


The Wolf and the Phoenix

by angelsfallenknight



Category: Glee
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-11-12 20:51:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18018224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsfallenknight/pseuds/angelsfallenknight
Summary: Rachel Berry only wanted a relaxing vacation in Japan after finally graduating college, but after stumbling into a scene only seen in movies, she and her friend, Santana Lopez, find themselves thrust into the shadows of the criminal underworld, and under the protection of one Quinn Fabray.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teadalek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teadalek/gifts).



> This is an original story, using both Faberry and the Yakuza video game as reference. The Japanese language is used in some areas, but translated for easy reading.

Naturally, Kabukicho would have not been Rachel Berry’s first choice of town to visit whilst on vacation with friends in Japan. It was most commonly known as the Sleepless Town to regulars; home to host clubs, love hotels, shops, restaurants and nightclubs. People of all ages prowled the wide set streets, the neon lights that hovered above them painting them in a harsh mixture of red, gold and white.

 

The first thing Rachel saw when she disembarked the train at Shinjuku station was a passing host, calling out in his home tongue for people to come to the nearby host club if they wanted to have a little fun. She wasn’t fluent in the language, much to her dismay, but she picked up the tell tale word for host as ‘hosuto’.

 

She turns to her companion, a brick of a man with a mohawk, and scowls. “You didn’t.”

 

Noah Puckerman holds his hand to his chest in shock admonishment, “I did not.” His tone does nothing to soothe Rachel or stop her from rolling her eyes. Naturally, she shouldn’t have handed him the itinerary for their trip and told him to put ‘something, anything’ down for the day before they were due to leave back for American soil.

 

“Noah, I will kill you.” She comes up on him, hand clamping like a vice, an obvious threat to the manhood that he can’t quite control, and smirks when he jumps back and protects himself for all his worth.

 

“Chill it, Berry.” Santana Lopez, her friend of several years jumps off the train, dragging her rucksack along with her, “We’ve been to temples and shrines, and enough Geisha tea ceremonies to drown a city. I think it’s time we let loose.”

 

With a roll of her eyes, she knows she’s completely outvoted. While it is true, she wanted the authentic Japanese experience, she had done just that since day one. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let her friends unwind for their last day of vacation before heading back to the daily grind.

 

“Fine, but I am not,” She stares at Puck, eyes narrowed, eyes dark and broody, “I repeat, am not, going to a brothel.”

 

He nods his head, and shoulders his backpack, “I wasn’t expecting you to, it’s just a change of scene,” They walk toward the exit and with a chuckle, he adds, “But if I can get waited on by a few chicks, I won’t complain at all.”

 

Santana rolls her eyes, “You know they only want money, right? They don’t do it for your charming personality.”

 

Puck smirks, “Yeah, but I have a wallet full of money and an overwhelming urge to get wasted.” He spins on his heels to face the two girls behind him, “They’re gonna love me, just watch.”

 

Rachel snorts, pushing her way through the crowd, apologizing as she nudges into a group of several men that are camped at the entrance, “Sumimasen.” It’s only a quiet apology, but they seem to understand she’s trying to speak Japanese and just return to speaking to one another. “They’re probably just going to be interested that you’re a six foot man with a dead rat on his head.”

 

She vaguely hears Puck chuckle as they reach the outside, “Just wait until they see what’s in my pants.” All three of them stop and gaze at the luminous street signs, listen to the pounding music that permeates the air and stare, slack jawed. “My God, it’s like…” He struggles to finds the words and just ends up laughing, “It’s like a Japanese Las Vegas!”

 

Rachel has to admit, although the bright lights practically cake the wide streets in a neon hue and the music is a little off putting, it is distinctly Japanese. Large crowds flit in and out of nearby stores, chefs at open food stalls call out for new customers to come and try their delicacies, and laughter seems to fill the air.

 

“It’s…amazing.” Rachel circles on the spot, trying to gather the sights in. This is like nothing they had seen before on their travels. They had gone to historical sights, temples and hole in the wall ramen restaurants that were hidden away from the prying eyes of tourists. They had found every little nook and and cranny that Japan had to offer, but this was off the charts.

 

“Where we going first?” Santana asks, eyeing up a near by Takoyaki stall and practically frothing at the mouth. They hadn’t eaten since leaving Tokyo, and if Puck had his own way, they would be drinking for the remainder of the night. Maybe food was a good idea.

 

“Food?” Rachel answers, already making her way toward the stall, “I’m starved.”

 

Santana claps her hands together in agreement and practically dashes toward the stall. Her Japanese was just as bad, if not worse, than Rachel’s, so she impatiently waited for her friends to join her. Weirdly, Puck was the most fluent, apparently he had taken a minor in it at College, much to the girls shock, and it had stuck.

 

“There’s nothing Vegan here, Rach.” Puck informs the brunette as he pulls up the stall, staring up at the tiny menu above the stall. “It’s all seafood.”

 

Although Rachel had sworn off Veganism for the trip, it still annoyed her to a certain degree that the Japanese didn’t offer anything that she could partake in. She had all but berated a poor old man that ran a ramen resturaunt in Osaka, in broken Japanese, and Puck had to vehemently apologize and pull the raging girl from the store.

 

After that, Rachel agreed to eat seafood, but most definitely not meat, if she wanted to survive her trip.

 

“Do they do Octopus?” Santana asks, squinting her eyes up at the menu, almost trying to decipher the Kanji. The first time the latina had tried octopus, she had almost screamed, dismayed to find it still moving on her plate, but the taste was out of this world. A recent convert, it was all she would eat on her travels through Japan.

 

“Yep.” Rachel agreed that she would have the same, even if she did have a little pout on her face. He smiled at the owner and did a slight bow, a show of respect. He raised three fingers, “Tako, onegaishimasu.” He made sure to say please; the Japanese were sticklers when it came to manners.

 

The man went to work, forming dough balls around freshly cut octopus tentacles, before seasoning and dipping them in a wok of hot oil. The process took only moments, and as quickly as they had ordered, the owner was stabbing each individual Takoyaki ball with toothpicks and placing them in small cardboard containers.

 

Puck paid as Santana inhaled hers, Rachel huffed as she chewed delicately on hers; she hated herself for liking seafood so much.

 

All three chirped up as they binned their empty boxes, “Dōmo arigatōgozaimashita!” Simply saying thank you very much was such a hard thing to get used to; Puck had practically ordered them to remember how to say it, and how to say it correctly.

 

__“Why can’t we just say thanks?” Santana had moaned on the plane, face buried in her English to Japanese dictionary._ _

__

__“We are, you just need to say it politely.” Puck had replied, much to Santana’s disgust. She hated being polite._ _

__

“I’d ask where to next,” Rachel commented, making their way down the main street; hosts and hostess alike shouted to grab their attention, handing out leaflets; she made sure not to make eye contact, the last thing she wanted was to be pulled into a seedy host club. “But I have a feeling you already know.”

 

Puck was gawking at a particularly under dressed young woman at the door of a hostess club; she smiled at him and waved him over, making sure to put extra emphasis on her breasts as she pushed her arms together at her sides.

 

Santana and Rachel alike, both rolled their eyes and allowed Puck to wander off in a state of euphoria. It wasn’t until he was grinning over his shoulder at them, descending the stairs that led into the club, that they both realized they had lost their translator.

 

“Fuck,” Santana hissed, “He was our dictionary!”

 

Rachel chuckles, barely heard over the crowds that pushed past them, “We’ll be okay!” She looks around, trying to find somewhere they could actually go. Much like every time she had been faced with a difficult solo, she would rise to the challenge. She knew nothing of Kanji, so reading store fronts were a bust, but she could grasp what each building had to offer from the people that stood outside, trying to grip the crowd’s attention.

 

More host clubs, a love hotel which Santana chuckled at as she passed, small hole in the wall casino’s that were fit to bursting with money hungry patrons, restaurants, convenience stores and arcades. All the shops were brightly lit up and pounding with music; it was slightly intoxicating. They had been to the more quieter locales on their month long trip through Japan (a nice calm getaway after graduating college, Puck had said) and this flip was completely insane.

 

“Maybe we should just find a bar.” Santana comments as they come to a quite corner of the street, sandwiched in an alleyway between an arcade and a convenience store. “There’s gotta be tons in this town.” She searches around, coming up empty, “I can’t believe that dick just abandoned us.”

 

Rachel giggles, “Let him have fun, even if it is just for a night.” Rachel glances down the street and her eyes lock on an older drunken gentleman, still dressed in a work suit and carrying a briefcase, “Think I found a bar.” She drags Santana from the alley and toward the almost bland looking building, nestled between neon lights. It’s very indistinct, and definitely up Rachel’s alley. “If they have karaoke, we’re doing it.”

 

“Berry,” Santana groans, swiping her hand away from Rachel’s grasp, “God, your hand is so sweaty. Gross.” She re-adjusts her backpack, making sure it’s still zipped up, “I am not doing karaoke with you. We haven’t sung together since Glee club and I want to keep it that way.”

 

Rachel spins on her heels with a frown, “Come on, please!” She tries her best puppy dog eyes, but Santana is, shockingly, not moved. “Fine.” She spin again, chin high, “I’ll just do it myself. It has been a while since I exercised the old vocal chords.”

 

Santana rolls her eyes as they reach the bar door, “You sang yesterday, in the middle of Tokyo square. A cop had to move us on because you were causing a, and I quote, disturbance.”

 

“That,” She points her finger at her friends, then stops, trying to find a rebuttal but coming up empty, “Whatever, I was still good.” She turns the knob of the bar door and enters, trying to forget the conversation.

 

The bar is small, very small, but almost homely. There’s an old wooden bar, probably older than her, and only a few seats and tables. Patrons line the bar, fill the tables and booths. There’s nowhere to sit, but they’ll make their own space. They’re used to it by now. “Told you, karaoke.” She points to the small machine in the corner with a grin.

 

“No.” Santana pushes past her and leans against the bar, “You order, your Japanese is better than mine.”

 

With a roll of her eyes, Rachel pulls her purse free from her backpack and pulls out a few notes. “You just want me to pay.” The attendant notices the money in her hand and makes his way over.

 

“That too.”

 

Rachel scowls quickly in Santana’s direction then puts on her most beaming smile, “Uhm, biru?” The attendant raises an eyebrow, “Uh,” She glances toward Santana who is hiding a smirk behind her hand, “Biru…” She turns back to the attendant and sighs, raising two fingers.

 

The attendant chuckles slightly and nods, “Yattekuru.” She’s heard that before, from previous bars. It means coming up. Thank God, she had done it. Barely.

 

“Told you I could do it.”

 

“Mhm,” Santana chuckles, “Yeah, Berry, that was super smooth. Almost mistook you for a native speaker.”

 

“Because I’m polite, I won’t tell you to fuck off.”

 

“You just did.”

 

The beers make their way to them and Rachel hands over enough cash to cover both, “Arigatōgozaimashita.” The attendant smiles and takes the money, handing over the change before he heads up the bar to attend to someone else.

 

Both beers cradled in their hands, they stand by the bar, almost trying to blend in. The Japanese were very polite in their culture, and often didn’t stare at tourists, but it almost felt like they were being completely ignored.

 

“How long should we give Puck before we have to drag his drunken ass from the hostess club?” Santana asks before taking a long pull of her beer, she stares at the glass as she swallows, almost debating if she likes it or not, but goes in for another pull regardless.

 

“Give him a few hours, he pretty much has been our chaperone the whole month.”

 

“I never really did understand why you chose Japan, and why you had to drag my beautiful ass out here too.”

 

Rachel smirks, “Oh, San, you know I can’t live without you.”

 

With a roll of her eyes, Santana rests her beer on the counter, careful to make it last; no doubt Rachel would make her order next, “You’re so gay.”

 

“Half actually, but thank you.” Rachel takes a sip of her beer, trying not to outwardly cringe at the burst of yeast she takes as soon as it hits her tongue. She rarely drank beer back home, more of a wine type of girl, but Japanese beer had a distinctly different flavour to Western beer. “I’ve always liked Japan, I watched a documentary when I was younger on Geisha’s and I loved their aesthetic; how they dressed, their movements, the tea, the conversation…”

 

“God, you’re boring.” Santana groans and picks up her beer again, already bored.

 

“You asked!” It came out as a high pitched squeak and turned several heads that sat at the tables and booths, she smiled and waved apologetically, “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

 

“You squeaked, not me.” The beer was almost gone, and so was her sanity after being around Rachel Berry for almost a month, “I’m grabbing another. Biru, right?”

 

Rachel nods and turns her attention to the karaoke machine that sits dejected in the corner; it looks like no one has touched it in a while, and her fingers ache to pick up the microphone that sits on the table beside it.

 

“Don’t even think about it, Berry.”

 

Rachel jumped and turned to face the girl beside her, now clutching a fresh beer, “I wasn’t thinking about anything.”

 

“Want to say that again without staring at the karaoke machine as if the stars had aligned and this was your time to shine?”

 

“You’re no fun.”

 

“Wrong, I’m great fun, just not around you.”

 

“Ass.”

 

They stand together, quietly, sipping their beers. Rachel has to admit, even though they weren’t particularly doing anything, it was a little fun. They were in Japan, in a bar, drinking authentic beer, surrounded by culture. This is the vacation she wanted, and even though they were a man down, and could barely speak the native tongue, it was still exhilarating.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You’re not going to stop staring are you?” Santana comments, on her sixth beer, a little worse for ware. She has to slump against the bar to keep herself stood up, a flush across her cheeks. Rachel was going the same way, just polishing off her fourth beer.

 

“I need to do it.”

 

“Nooooo, you don’t.”

 

“I do though,” She puts the glass on the bar, turning toward the machine, before she’s grabbed by Santana, “Let me go, San, I need to.”

 

“Stop.” Santana lurched forward and wrapped her arms around Rachel’s shoulders, “Stop, you don’t need to do this. Control yourself.”

 

“I can’t. It’s calling out to me, San.”

 

“Don’t listen to it.” She whirls Rachel around, somehow able to keep both of them stable while she does so, “It lies, Rachel. Don’t listen.”

 

“Come sing with me!”

 

“Ugh, no, I don’t wanna. I want another beer.”

 

“I’ll buy you another beer after a song.”

 

“No.”

 

“Two beers?”

 

“Ugh,” Santana pushes the smaller girl away from her, “Fine, you annoying midget. Pick a song I actually know this time.”

 

The two pick the most played song on the machine; a rock ballad called Judgement, and almost regret it when Kanji appears on the screen. Luckily, a handy English translation sits beneath the Kanji and they blow out a sigh of relief, almost in unison. The whole bar is staring at them, waiting for the Western girls to make a mess of themselves.

 

“We got this!” Rachel shouts, not realizing she had already moved the mic up to her mouth, and deafens half of the patrons, “Oh, sorry…” Then she stops, “Uhm, I mean, gomen'nasai.”

 

She’s amazed she can still remember how to say certain Japanese words, and is halfway through congratulating herself when the electric guitar kicks in on the machine and she immediately locks down into singer mode.

 

The song is originally meant to be sang by men, so she adjusts, putting on a deeper tone than she was usually used to. She should be embarrassed, but the alcohol that courses through both their veins seems to numb that.

 

Rachel is thankful its a slowish song, and takes lead of most of the Japanese speaking, and Santana breaks in when the song seemingly slips into very broken English. She’d laugh if she wasn’t trying to concentrate so hard, or perhaps when she realizes she doesn’t really have any stage presence because she’s crouched over, staring at the screen.

 

Santana is the one that goes ball to walls insane, jumping across the tiny makeshift stage, playing air guitar, practically screaming in time with the beat. The song ends with a heavy thrum of the electric guitar and Rachel stands up tall again, bows, and tries not to let her mind settle on the fact that no one has actually applauded yet.

 

“Woo! Yeah!” Santana jumps off the stage and forces high fives from the patrons. They seem unsettled, trying to shy away from her advances, and Rachel instantly sobers. She straightens up and glances over to the bar attendant who has his arms crossed over his chest, scowling at the Latina as she dances across the bar, trying to cuddle people.

 

Time to go.

 

“Santana, come on!” She jumps off the stage, grabs their backpacks, shoulders them and apologizes profusely to the whole bar as she tries to pull Santana toward the door. It’s a struggle, after all, Santana is quite a bit taller and just a little bit stronger, but she somehow manages it. “So sorry, uh, gomen'nasai!”

 

She breathes with relief when she slams the bar door shut, “What the hell, Santana?” She turns to berate her friend, only to flounder to see that her friend is gone. “San?” She glances up and down the street, finally seeing her dancing down the street, much to the amusement of the crowds. “Santana!”

 

It takes her almost twenty minutes to get Santana to stop dancing and manage to pull her away to a quiet spot. It’s a small park, nestled in a quiet corner, away from the main street. Santana is sat, almost slumped on a bench, loosely holding a bottle of water that Rachel had pulled from her backpack.

 

“Drink the water.” She’s too drunk to be dealing with this, and all she wants to do is find Puck and get to a hotel. They had been drinking for hours, and Puck must be done at the hostess bar by now. “Come on, I want to go find Puck.”

 

“That was so fun…” Santana laughs, almost missing her mouth entirely when she finally decides to take a sip of water, “Japanese beer is the shit.”

 

Rachel rolls her eyes and pulls her phone free from her back pocket, dialling Puck’s number. Maybe he could come and track them down; much to Rachel’s annoyance, she had completely forgotten how she had gotten to this little park. Her map was still in the hotel room, ordered to be left there by Puck, who knew how to read street signs.

 

The phone rings and rings, before finally ending up in Puck’s voice mail.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Rachel groans; naturally he was still probably at the bar, wasting all his money and probably getting even more wasted than Santana and herself. “Just, drink that water and then we’ll head back to the main street.”

 

If only she knew how to.

 

“Sir, yes, sir!” Santana does miss the time, spilling half the bottle down her shirt, “Oh God damn, don’t look, you perv!”

 

Rachel rolls her eyes, “You’re a mess.” She hears hushed voices in the distance and smiles, “Hold on, I think I hear people, I’m gonna ask for directions.”

 

“I’m coming with,” Santana sits up with a quiet belch, “A walk will help, trust me.”

 

Rachel doesn’t really believe the reasoning, but helps Santana up, regardless. Together, they walk toward the sound of the voices, away from the park and down a narrow alley. A group of men are stood at the end, in an enclosed section, talking quietly amongst each other.

 

“Excuse-,” Rachel starts, before frowning and pulled Santana toward the wall, “Don’t say anything.”

 

Santana, shockingly, stays quiet, and glances down the alley. Four men, stood in a circle, begin to back away from one another, and laying in a crumpled heap on the floor of the alley… “Ay dios mio.”

 

A body of another man lays prone on the floor, not moving, nor breathing. Rachel feels the panic rise from her chest up toward her throat; she wants to scream, but all she can do is shake. “We need to leave,” She whispers, “Quietly.”

 

Santana nods, seemingly sobered up, “Go, I’ll follow.”

 

They’re backing away, facing the group of men, quiet as church mice, and almost free of the enclosed alley when Rachel’s cell begins to ring in her back pocket. She rushes to silence it, but the four men have already been made aware of their presence.

 

She sees the devious glints in their eyes, both angered and intrigued at the two girls that have stumbled into their little hideaway. “Hashiranaide!”

 

Santana instantly panics, “What the hell does that mean?” She’s still backing up, quicker this time, gripping the back of Rachel’s shirt to drag her back too.

 

“I don’t know.” She turns and pushes Santana back, “Run!”

 

They do, seemingly on auto pilot, peeling out of the alley, trying not to focus on the thunderous footsteps that follow them from behind. They panic, almost hyperventilating, bags bouncing harshly off their backs as they run as fast as their legs can take them. Santana is faster, naturally, but Rachel makes sure to keep up. She can’t afford to lose another friend, not now.

 

What the hell were they going to do?

 

They run onto another empty street, trying to follow the shining lights from the main street. They’d be safe there. Puck was there. They needed to get there. “This way!” Rachel shouts toward Santana, finding the familiar hue in the distance. Santana follows without question, and they’re almost off the street when they bump into a group of three men.

 

Both girls end up on the floor, groaning as pain strikes up their spines from the heavy fall, “Fuck,” Santana groans, looking over to Rachel to see if she’s okay, but Rachel is already up and grabbing onto the nearest man. He’s tall, incredibly tall, almost Finn tall, wearing a grey suit. The jacket is unbuttoned and there’s no tie or suitcase. He’s not a salary man; he’s dressed like the other guys.

 

“Rachel, get away from him.”

 

But Rachel doesn’t listen, pleading to the man and his friends, hands still fisting his suit jacket. She speaks in broken Japanese and English, trying to get her message across. The man turns to one of his friends and shrugs before turning back to her.

 

“Speak English or Japanese, not both.”

 

Rachel instantly shuts up and backs away, “You speak English?” She laughs, almost with relief, “Oh, thank God.”

 

Santana is on her feet, grabbing the girl away from him, “He’s wearing clothes like that other group.” She hisses, trying to smack some sense into her friend.

 

Rachel glances back to the men and is suddenly very quiet, “You’re not going to hurt us, are you?”

 

The man shrugs, “Not unless you hurt us, girl.”

 

“Sore wa dareda!” There’s a booming voice behind them and both girls instantly stiffen, which the three men notice almost straight away. They bat the girls behind them, protecting them from the four men that walk slowly toward them. “Watashitachi wa sorera no on'nanoko ga hoshī.”

 

Rachel and Santana stand together, trying to catch what the men are saying, but Rachel can only make out certain words. She hears ‘girl’ and ‘want’, but that’s about it. It’s enough to put two and two together, “They want us.”

 

One of the men that’s shielding them, a short man with a buzz cut, turns toward them, “Just stay quiet and let us handle this.” He has perfect English, even with the heavy accent. They knew that English was a language predominantly learnt in Japan, but not to this extent, he was perfectly fluent.

 

Both girls decide to stay quiet, standing behind their newfound guards.

 

Words are exchanged, words that fly by so fast they have no chance of deciphering. They wish Puck was here.

 

“This is bullshit, can’t we just run off?” Santana grumbles, watching as the words between the two groups grow more and more heated.

 

Buzz Cut turns around again with a frown, “I told you to shut up.”

 

“Then tell us what the hell is going on!”

 

He sighs, “You saw something you weren’t meant to see. They’re not going to let you go.”

 

Both friends blanch, remembering what they had seen, Rachel clears her throat, “You mean the body?”

 

He nods and turns back to the group, “A fight is going to break out, stay back, but close to us. We can protect you.”

 

A fight does break out, and as opposed to a fight in America, no guns or weapons are used. The men fight with their fists, and the punches that are exchanged are brutal and deadly. One man is punched so hard he ends up slamming into a nearby wall, enough to crack his head open and leave blood on the wall as he slumps to the floor.

 

Although they are outnumbered three to four, their ‘guards’ seem to have a good grip on the situation. They tear away from one another, but close to the girls, and fight one on one. Whenever one of the men from the other group try to make a break for the girls, their guards form together and push them back.

 

If Rachel wasn’t so terrified, she would be impressed. They work together in a quiet unity, barely breaking a sweat as they punch and kick their way to victory. None of the three men speak; they just get the job done, and after a quick fist fight, all four men are down on the ground, completely knocked out and unmoving.

 

“Holy fuck,” She hears Santana whisper at her side, but Rachel can barely focus as the three men regroup and talk amongst one another in Japanese. They talk quietly, so quietly that Rachel can’t tell what they’re saying, but once they’re done, seemingly in agreement with each other, they head back toward the girls.

 

The leader, the tall man, stops in front of them, “You need to come with us, this place isn’t safe.”

 

Rachel and Santana glance at one another, “We’re only here on vacation, we can go back to our hotel. We have a friend-,”

 

Buzz Cut butts in, “No. You walked into something you don’t understand. You need to come with us.”

 

“Just take us to the train station, you can do that, right?” Santana asks, half annoyed.

 

The leader’s eyes slide from Rachel’s to Santana, “You’re more than welcome to leave if you want to be jumped and killed.”

 

The girls pause, the leader continues.

 

“These four guys belong to a much bigger group, and they’re everywhere. Come with us.”

 

They don’t seem to have a choice, but as they hear more pounding footsteps down the street, the three men grab them both and pull them up the street, breaking out into a run, “Go! Don’t stop running until we tell you to!”

 

They run.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They run for a while, even after they know that they’ve lost the people that were following them. Both Rachel and Santana are exhausted, the alcohol that had been keeping them awake had no completely disappeared from their system, and all the running had done them in.

 

The three men ran behind them, keeping them safe, looking calm as can be. They didn’t look tired in the slightest, but when they dropped into a gentle jog, both Rachel and Santana collapsed into a nearby bench, chests heaving for air.

 

The lights of the main street were far off in the distance, merely a golden hue in the distance, and they could no longer hear the thumping music. Puck was still there, completely unaware of what was going on. Rachel pulled her phone from her back pocket, intent on calling him, before the third man of the group, one that hadn’t said a word up until this point, took the phone and slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket. “No.”

 

Rachel frowned and stood, legs still like jelly, and placed her fists on her hips, “I need to call my friend. He’ll be worried.”

 

“We’ll sort that once you’re back at our office, we’re close.”

 

Santana groaned and pulled herself from the bench, “Not that I like playing twenty questions, but what the hell is going on?”

 

Buzz Cut stepped forward then, “The boss will explain.” He turned back toward the leader, who was suddenly on his phone in quiet conversation, “We’ll try get you home in one piece, but you picked a bad time to get involved in all this.”

 

“Involved in what?”

 

The leader slipped his phone into his pocket and stepped toward them, “Boss wants to see you. Come with us.”

 

They had no choice but to follow him, and thankfully, they were allowed to walk. The guys seemed familiar with their surroundings, taking short cuts through alleys and jumping fences, which they so chivalrously helped the girls achieve. Santana had no problem, being an ex-athlete, but Rachel needed a little more coaxing over the higher fences.

 

“We’re here.” They stopped in front of a rather indistinguishable building; a front door, a few windows. It looked just like a regular office. “Come on.” The leader of the group urges the girls in after his two subordinates, and they follow. They had come too far just to bolt now; they didn’t even know their way back to the main street even if they tried.

 

The office was just that, an office. There was a small reception area, unmanned, and stairs directly beside it. The men took the stairs and urged both girls to follow, which they did. “I don’t think these guys are just regular office workers.” Santana commented from behind Rachel as they ascended.

 

“What do you think then…?” She asked, quietly, in reply.

 

“Mob, maybe.”

 

Rachel felt the urge to throw up, but shook the feeling away as quickly as it had come. If it was true, and they had somehow gotten themselves involved in mob business, they would have a lot of questions to ask.

 

She hoped they could get home.

 

She hoped they found Puck again.

 

She hoped they lived.

 

They reached the top of the stairs, and the leader of the group quietly knocked on an inconspicuous door before walking in and shutting it with a soft click behind him. Buzz Cut and the other man stayed in the hall, watching the door, arms crossed over their chests. It was only a minute or so until the door opened again and the leader poked his head out, “Come on.”

 

The two men stayed outside, guarding the door as the girls made their way inside. The office was large, much larger than the reception area, adorned beautifully with abstract art, carpeted with what looked like expensive hand made rugs. Two couches dead centre, a coffee table between them, crystal ashtrays with only a few ends sat in them. The two men on the couch with their back turned to them, turned and regarded the girls. They said nothing, which unnerved Rachel to no end. Santana, on the other hand, just seemed annoyed.

 

“You must be the girls my guys saved.”

 

Rachel’s eyes shot up from the men, expecting one of them to be the boss, but was shocked to see, completely overlooked, a woman sat at the steadfast oak desk, an elbow propped up on the arm of her chair, chin in the palm of her hand. She looked intrigued.

 

“Damn, okay, lady leader, I’m here for that.”

 

Rachel rolls her eyes and nudges Santana in the ribs, “Shut up.” She turns back to the ‘boss’ and takes a step forward, noticing that the men on the couch seem to bristle at this, so she steps back again.

 

“Uhm, hello, I’m Rachel, this is my friend, Santana.”

 

The boss seems to regard her in silent question, hazel eyes not betraying a thing. If Rachel wasn’t so terrified, she’d think the woman that sat before her was quite pretty. Long blonde hair, curled ever so slightly, fell past the woman’s shoulders. She looked strong, but slight, capable but fair. She wore a simple grey suit, fitted perfectly to her body, a white shirt with the top button undone.

 

The boss stands, “I’m Quinn Fabray,” She circles the desk and leans back against it, ushering the two men on the couch out of the room with a simple hand flick. She waits until they’ve left the room, including the leader of the guys that had saved them, before continuing. “You two,” She points a finger at them, “Are in serious trouble.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

Quinn Fabray likes to think she is a fair leader.

 

When her subordinates call and tell her that they have said two girls from almost certain death from footmen of the Phoenix family, the first thing she asks, if is they’re okay. Then, and only then, once finding out they were safe and unharmed, did she ask what the hell had gone wrong for two western girls to be chased down and threatened.

 

What she heard, made her blood run cold. She had been in Japan for several years, and worked her way up to control her own group within the family, but never in those years had she ever come across blatant murder.

 

The Yakuza were banned from doing anything that involved murder, and even if you thought about it, you were reprimanded. The Yakuza followed a long line of code that had been in place for generations, yet somehow, the Phoenix family had broken that code.

 

Murder was a no no, and she would be bringing it up to the elders, just as soon as she found out what the girls knew, and who the four men had murdered in cold blood.

 

“What do you mean, trouble?”

 

The smaller of the two girls pipes up and Quinn smile softly, “Not you, specifically.” She pushes off the desk and gestures to the couch, allowing the two girls to take a seat. They both look exhausted, caked in sweat, clothes dirty and ruffled, and they don’t ask twice before taking a seat.

 

The other girl, the dark haired one, stares up at Quinn, almost sizing her up. If only she knew what a position of power Quinn was in; she’d barely be able to look at her then. She takes a seat on the opposite couch, flicking one leg over the over and leaning back, making sure she is comfortable before she continues.

 

“As you probably guess, myself and my group are part of the Yakuza.” At both girl’s blank looks, Quinn elaborates, “Technically the Japanese Mafia.”

 

“I told you.” The dark haired one muttered, bumping her shoulder against the smaller one.

 

“I’m sorry,” Quinn butts in, “What’s your name again?”

 

“Santana. This is Rachel.”

 

Quinn nods, she had barely heard what Rachel had said previously; she had been so quiet. “Well, Santana, Rachel, I’m patriarch of the Wolf Family, and the four men you saw were a part of another family that lives in this city. We’ve been at war for a while with them, but it seems they’ve taken a turn to more dangerous things. You happened to see that, and now they’ll want to silence you.”

 

Rachel seems to choke on her own saliva and leans back further into the couch, “They want to kill us?”

 

Quinn nods, disturbed, “Naturally, you won’t be able to leave town. Both the Phoenix family and my family hold a fifty-fifty share of this town, but they’ll make it difficult for you to leave. They’ll be looking out for two girls with your description and I don’t have the men to spare to keep you guarded. I’m already at the threshold as it is.”

 

“Then what the hell are we going to do? We have a flight booked tomorrow night to go back to the US.” Santana asks, voice laced with barely held back anger.

 

Quinn contemplates this. It would be an idea to try and get both girls to their flight, but grudges are held across country lines. They’d be followed, regardless of where they went. “How did you get into town?”

 

“Shinjuku station,” Rachel replies, quietly, face growing paler by the second.

 

“The station and the upper half of Kabukicho Main Street is owned by Phoenix, you can’t go there.” Quinn raises an eyebrow, hoping to gauge the girls reaction with what she would say next, “However, the lower half of Kabukicho Main Street is owned and protected by my family, you would be able to reside their with no issue.”

 

She notices that Rachel pales even more, it looks like she’s about to throw up. Quinn regards a potted plant off to the side, against a wall, and mourns the loss of it if the poor girl did throw up. It’s naturally the first place she’d go.

 

“We need to get back to America.” Santana states, not budging on the issue.

 

“Out of the question, unless you want to be followed and your family targeted too?”

 

Neither girl says anything in regards to this and Quinn knows she’s won.

 

“I own several enterprises on the main street, if you feel like you need something to do, or earn a little money, I’d be happy to find you a job at one of those places.” She shrugs her shoulders, “For our protection, you will need to pay some sort of fee.”

 

Rachel’s head snaps up at that, “Fee? We’ve done nothing wrong, why should we pay you?”

 

“You found yourself in trouble, I’m offering protection. Money tends to be exchanged for a service. It’s been a while since I lived in America, but I’m sure you pay for services their too.”

 

“Wondered what a white girl was doing in Japan.” Santana pipes up, “Thought girls couldn’t be in the mob?”

 

Quinn frowns at that; it’s been a while since she was spoken down to. “They can be, if they choose to be. While true, I’m the only female in the Yakuza, my status reflects my work ethic and how much money I earn.” She narrows her eyes and glares at the Latina opposite her; she’d met plenty of her type when she still lived in America, “Show a little respect, or I’ll throw you out on your ass.”

 

Santana’s eyes bulge, seemingly from shock and maybe a little fear. Quinn drives it home.

 

“I am the leader, and all the men that work for me, over five hundred of them in my family, answer to me. A western girl in charge of a Japanese Mafia family is exceedingly rare, but I made it work, and I have the money to prove it. If you don’t want my help, you are more than welcome to leave and try your best to get to Shinjuku. I give you twenty minutes before I get word that you’re dead, or worse, taken and used as a play thing.”

 

Santana falls silent and slumps back against the couch. Quinn holds back the urge to laugh; it really had been a while since she had to berate someone like that. It was fun. Rachel, on the other hand, still seemed baffled.

 

“We…don’t have the money. We’ve been here over a month, we’ve only just graduated college, we don’t have any savings.”

 

Quinn ponders this for only a second, before arriving at a solution, “You will work in one of my establishments in lieu of protection. You will be paid a general salary and given an apartment to live in.” She regards both girls, they would fit in perfectly, “Sound fair?”

 

Both girls regard each other, before Rachel turns back toward Quinn, “You’re sure you’ll be able to protect us from them?” At Quinn’s nod, she continues, “Will we ever be able to go home?”

 

Quinn nods again, “Of course, eventually, when I’ve managed to iron out the issues and get rid of the vermin that murdered someone.” She stands from the couch, pushing her hands into her pants pockets, “Murder is one thing we don’t do in the Yakuza, I’ll make sure the family pay for breaking such a sacred rule.”

 

Both girls nod and stand, “Thank you for this.” Rachel comments, quietly, almost meekly, “We’d be dead by now if it wasn’t for those three guys, can you like, give them a raise or something?”

 

Santana grumbles, “Jesus, shut up.”

 

Quinn chuckles, “I’ll make sure they’re compensated on such sterling service.” She walks past them and toward the door, but before opening it, she turns back to them, “By the way, did you look at the body?”

 

Santana shrugs, “I was half cut, could barely see straight.”

 

Rachel sighs, “I did.”

 

Quinn nods, “Anything interesting about the man? His clothes, anything?”

 

It pained Rachel to do it, but she searched back, past the blur of running for her life and bumping into the three guys, back to the dingy alleyway and the corpse that laid at the end of it. A colour comes to mind and her eyes snap to Quinn’s suit.

 

Hazel eyes darken and it makes Rachel shiver.

 

It was one of Quinn’s men.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They’re told they’re going to safe house just down the road, a stone’s throw away from the Wolf Family’s office. It’s a small and dingy apartment, but thankfully, two bedroom. Buzz Cut is the one that takes them, the other two are busy, according to him.

 

He tells them that he’ll take them shopping in the morning for new clothes and necessities, with a loan of money given so graciously from Quinn. He chucks the envelope of cash at Santana, who catches it with a practised hand and begins to thumb through it.

 

“Our men guard this road at all times, so don’t think you can use the money to cut your losses and run.”

 

Both Santana and Rachel nod in agreement, and before leaving, he finally tells them his name, “My name is Haruto, by the way.” Then he leaves, locking the door behind him.

 

It felt like a prison, all of a sudden.

 

“Holy motherfucking shit.” At Santana’s curse, Rachel spins on her heels to regard her friend who is sat on the couch, envelope of money open on the table. “There’s like, six million yen in here.”

 

Rachel quickly does the math and almost falls flat on her ass. Quinn had essentially gifted them almost fifty-four thousand US dollars. “She can’t do that…”

 

“Well, she did.” Santana laughs and lays out on the couch, stretching out as far as her limbs will let her, “Damn, who’da thunk we’d come across a westerner in charge of the mob, eh?”

 

It is hard to believe, that a western woman would hold such control within the Yakuza. The Japanese mob was essentially controlled and run by men. Why was Quinn so special?

 

“They took your phone, right?”

 

Rachel nods, missing the familiar presence in her back pocket. The third guy had taken it from her and never given it back. She wondered if she’d ever see it again, or her dad’s, or her friends. She feels like crying.

 

“They didn’t take mine.” Santana pulls her phone from her jacket pocket and dangles it between her thumb and index finger, “We can call Puck, let him know what’s up.”

 

Rachel was in two minds, half of her wanted Puck to get far away from this place and never look back, but his familiar presence was something she missed. He was a pain in the ass and a complete horn dog, but he was unbelievably protective.

 

“Miss Leader Lady didn’t tell us we couldn’t call anyone, so I vote we do.” She’s already unlocking her phone and scrolling for Puck’s number. Rachel sighs, maybe it’s best he knows, instead of worrying.

 

Santana puts the phone on speaker phone and chucks it onto the low coffee table, right beside the envelope of money, before Puck picks up, half drunk, __“I’ve been trying to call you for hours, you asshole, where the hell are you and Rach?”__

__

“Funny story, we got into trouble with the Yakuza.”

 

Rachel is thoroughly shocked at how blasé Santana is about the whole thing and frowns, “Will you be serious for two seconds? This is serious!”

 

__“Rach? What the hell is going on? Why is she talking about the Yakuza?”_ _

__

“She isn’t wrong, about the Yakuza. We ran into them doing something really shady and…we ended up getting protected by another family and then we went to go see the boss and now we’re being protected by them and we have to work and we can’t leave and…”

 

__“Rach, whoa. Slow down. From the beginning.”_ _

__

She explains the whole thing, noting that Puck is oddly silent through the whole retelling. She can’t tell if he’s completely dumbfounded or just shocked. She finishes her story and waits for the reply, Santana picking the dirt from under her nails as she waits too.

 

__“So, you’re telling me that you walked in on a murder, of all things, and were put under protection by a Yakuza group run by an American woman?”_ _

__

“Ten points for being perceptive, genius.” Santana rolls her eyes and Rachel launches a pillow in her general direction.

 

There’s silence, a long silence, __“Are you two just pissed I left you to go into a hostess club? You could have come in too, you know. They cater to women too.”__

__

Another eye roll from Santana, “You truly are stupid, aren’t you, Puck? We’re telling the truth.”

 

More silence, Rachel barely registers the ticking of a clock in the corner of the room, __“For…real?”__

__

Rachel nods to herself, “For real, Puck. This is deep.”

 

There’s a long sigh on Puck’s end of the phone, __“What are we going to do? We’re meant to leave tomorrow and I have no idea where you two are.”__

__

“I can ask Quinn tomorrow, to see if she can let you come to the office or something.” Rachel berates herself silently for not asking Quinn earlier about that, “You can either go home or stay here, the choice is yours.”

 

__“I ain’t leaving you and San here on your own, Rach, especially when people are after you. I’ll stay. You want me to call your families and let them know or…?”_ _

__

Santana bolts up in her seat, “Hell no, don’t tell anyone.” Her eyes are wide, panicked, and Rachel moves to sit next to her, patting her gently on the knee. “Just, tell them we’re staying a little longer. We found part time jobs and we’re working our way across Japan or something.”

 

Rachel agrees with the shockingly believable plan.

 

__“Okay, I’ll call them tomorrow morning to let them know. I’ll cover as much as I can. Talk to this Quinn girl about me coming over and text me directions. Okay?”_ _

__

“Sure thing, Puck.”

 

Exhaustion suddenly sweeps over Rachel’s body; she really can’t wait for a shower and a nice warm bed. It’s safe enough in this place.

 

__“Be safe you two, I’ll talk to you soon, alright? Keep your phone on and charged. You still have your bags, right?”_ _

__

“Yeah,” Santana replies, shoving the money that had spilled from the envelope back inside it, “We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything.”

 

__“Okay, cool…Night guys, talk soon. Stay safe.”_ _

__

Both girls are quiet for a while after hanging up the phone, until Santana finally stands and numbly says she’s going for a shower. Rachel doesn’t move the entire time she’s in there, listening to the light spray, and trying to block out the sounds of quiet sobbing from within the bathroom. It must have finally hit Santana, but for Rachel, she’s still numb.

 

Will she break down, just like her friend, under the spray of a lukewarm shower?

 

Santana emerges almost ten minutes later, hair sopping wet, “There’s no hair dryer.” She comments, and Rachel just stares at her, before replying, “Oh.”

 

Santana breaks down again, and Rachel follows.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

To say they didn’t sleep well, would be an understatement. After thoroughly sobbing their hearts out, and one lukewarm shower later, they were both in the same bed, head to feet, refusing to let each other out of their sights.

 

They hadn’t really spoken, nor wished each other a good night, they just slept, passing out in a bed that honestly wasn’t that comfortable. Santana almost kicked her in the face going four am, and after that, Rachel couldn’t go back to sleep.

 

She familiarized herself with the apartment as Santana fitfully slept on, noting the things that were missing from the apartment. Food, for one. There were a few bags of snacks in the kitchen drawers, but not enough to sate a hungry appetite. There was no toiletries to speak of in the bathroom, no clothes in the closets, there was nothing but both their backpacks.

 

Rachel unzipped her bag and looked at the contents, a travel guide, her purse, phone charger and some mints. Fantastic. She wished she had her phone back.

 

Santana emerged from the bedroom at sun up, almost six am, and looked worse than she did the night before. Her hair, still slightly damp, stood up in shock in every direction, a sure fire sign of a fitful night’s sleep.

 

“Haruto should be here soon, we’ll ask to get breakfast before we go shopping.”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

No snarky comment back, but Rachel tries to make the best of the situation. “I’ve looked around and compiled a list of what we need for the place,” She adds, trying her best to smile, “A hair dryer is at the top of the list.”

 

It goes completely over Santana’s head, before she walks into the bathroom for her morning ablutions. Rachel tended to light up the room, or darken it, depending on who you spoke to, but more often than not, she could get some sarcastic remark from Santana to know she was okay.

 

There was light sobbing from behind the bathroom door again.

 

Santana was not okay.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Haruto arrives almost two hours later, dressed in a fresh pressed grey suit, a shiny gold pin the size of thumbnail on his lapel. Rachel notices that it has the emblem of a wolf on it. He smiles at both girls who sit dutifully on the couch, “I have to tell you, I know the best place to grab an early breakfast. Ready?”

 

Both girls nod and follow him out the door. Rachel shoulders her backpack, which now carries the hefty sum of money that Quinn had loaned them. Maybe food would maybe them feel better? Maybe it would get rid of the nausea that attacks her body in waves. Maybe it would cheer Santana up.

 

They only end up down the road, at a small hole in the wall resturaunt that it all but vacant except for a man in the corner of the room, eating rice and drinking from a hefty bowl of miso soup with some sort of pastry on the side.

 

He’s wearing a grey suit too.

 

Rachel tries to figure out how many grey suits she has seen since they arrived at Shinjuku Station, not many, but there was a lot of red. Was that the colour of the other family?

 

“Ryo, I’ll take my usual!” Haruto calls out to the man behind the counter, who is carefully folding some form of pastry, he just nods and then regards the two girls. “He speaks English, don’t worry. Kind of have to when the boss is American.”

 

The girls nod and order what Haruto did; they don’t know what it is, but they don’t really care at this point. They’d eat scraps from a waste bin if it meant filling their stomachs. The last thing they had eaten was the Takoyaki from the stall when they had first arrived in Kabukicho, well over twelve hours ago.

 

Haruto tries to make small talk, but Santana is completely closed off, hands limp in her lap, Rachel tries to talk too. It might be a good time to gather some sort of information.

 

“So, Haruto, you’re really fluent in English.” She cringes; of course he is, idiot.

 

He grins, almost childlike, “Yeah, well, I learnt it in school, when I went, but then when the boss came, you had to learn to pick it up quick or you were booted out. I still struggle sometimes, but I think I’m good at it.”

 

“When did Quinn arrive?”

 

Haruto’s grin slips, “Why?”

 

Rachel shrugs, obviously Quinn wasn’t something you were meant to pry into, “I just wondered. You and the two other guys were really fluent and she told us she controls a lot of the people in your family, we figured she’d been here for a while.”

 

He doesn’t seem convinced but nods regardless, “Yeah, I guess its been almost five years since she got here. She ascended pretty quick, we still don’t know how she did it, but she’s a damn good boss.”

 

The chef arrives with their breakfast; broiled fish, bowls of rice, miso soup, toast, pickles and egg rolls. Rachel practically salivates; it looks and smells amazing. Santana numbly begins to dig in, barely paying attention to the conversation.

 

Haruto rubs his hands together, “Itadakimasu!” He grabs his chopsticks and digs in, sloppily eating his way through his share of food. Rachel glances up at the chef, and smiles, repeating Haruto’s remark, “Thank you for the food.”

 

The chef leaves and Rachel is left to dig into her food; it truly is delicious. It pains her to not be able to eat it all, otherwise she would most probably throw up, and sits back with a contented sigh when her food is almost all gone. “Wow.”

 

Haruto grins and pats his belly, “Best food in Japan, right here, I tell you.”

 

Rachel smiles and regards Santana who has finished her food, plate completely empty, “You okay, Santana?”

 

Haruto regards the Latina, “You’re a lot more quiet than yesterday.”

 

Santana’s gaze flicks from her plate up to him, “I try not to speak with my mouth full, unlike you.”

 

The atmosphere changes with a sharp crack and Rachel pats Santana’s hand gently, “San, please, don’t…” She whispers softly, and sighs with relief when Santana finally slumps back in defeat.

 

Haruto smirks, “Gonna have my hands full with you two.” He starts to collect the plates, balancing them in neat stacks with ease, “Where to first?”

 

Rachel pulls out the list from her back pocket, “I think we need clothes first, we’ve been wearing these for almost two days and our clothes are still back at the hotel.”

 

He stands and takes the plates to the counter, bowing to the chef before swirling to face the girls, “Lets go then!”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Haruto isn’t half as patient as he had made himself to be; Rachel noted with ardent interest that every time they moved from clothing store to clothing store, he began to drag his feet, bored completely ridged and muttering to himself in Japanese. Something about ‘women’ and ‘taking too long.’

 

“Haruto, please speak English, you know we can’t understand you.”

 

He does so, after that, but Rachel keeps catching the odd Japanese grumble under his breath. After the fifth clothing store, the girls decide they are completely stocked in what they need, including underwear, which Haruto had promptly turned his back upon. Apparently, it was rude of him to see what underwear they had, regardless of if they were wearing it or not.

 

It almost made Santana smirk, __almost__. Rachel was sure when Santana felt better, she’d toy with the poor boy.

 

Next was toiletries and electronics. Luckily, a convenience store nearby, weirdly, did both. They grabbed toilet paper, toothpaste, hair brushes, straighteners and curling tongs, make up and last but not least, with a grin from Rachel, and a half smile from Santana, a hair dryer.

 

It isn’t until they’re dropping their shopping bags off at home, and Santana dutifully places the food away in the kitchen that Rachel turns and smiles at Haruto, “Would it be possible for me to talk to Quinn?”

 

He glances at his watch, which Rachel realizes isn’t a knock off Omega, but in fact, a real one, and balks, “She’s in meetings most of day, I’ll ask when I get to the office.”

 

“Most of __the__  day.”

 

Haruto frowns, “What?”

 

“You missed ‘the’. She’s in meetings most of the day, not most of day.”

 

“Oh.” He pauses and then shrugs, “Arigatōgozaimashita.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

She listens to Santana potter about in the kitchen and feels herself on edge; she really needs to speak to Quinn. “Could you maybe check if she’s done?” She asks, as sweetly as she can; she’ll use her femininity to get her own way if needs be.

 

He sighs and checks his watch again, then shrugs, “I can check, I’ll call Kaito.” He finds the number he needs on his phone, and as he brings it to his ear, he notices her look of confusion, “Kaito, the guy you ran into last night. Tall guy.”

 

Oh, so he was Kaito. She wondered who the third guy was, the one that practically stole off with her phone.

 

Haruto speaks in complete Japanese when he’s on the phone to Kaito, but only catches Quinn’s name, as there’s no Japanese word for such a Western name.

 

He ends the call and nods, “You’re in luck, she’s on her way back. She’s agreed to speak with you. We can go wait in her office if you want.”

 

“Sure!” She bolts into the kitchen, “San, I’m gonna go speak with Quinn, you wanna come?”

 

Santana has a mouthful of potato chips in her mouth, and Rachel chuckles as she waits for her to finish, “Nah, I’ll stay here. I might have a nap, before things get bat shit crazy again.”

 

Rachel nods, “Stay safe.” Santana returns the sentiment as she leaves the kitchen and heads out the door with Haruto. Rachel knows she could safely make the trek six doors up to the Wolf Family office, but having Haruto near seemed to make it feel like she was still only a tourist, and that she and Santana hadn’t wandered into the deep end without armbands.

 

Haruto waits outside Quinn’s door, awaiting her arrival, while Rachel waits inside. She wanders around, taking in the paintings that hang on the wall; they’re completely abstract and wonders if Quinn enjoys having such an eclectic taste. The desk lays empty, except for a laptop that sits with the screen open, but locked with a password so Rachel couldn’t even snoop if she wanted to.

 

She isn’t left alone for long though, as the office door swings open and bounces off the wall with a sharp thud. Quinn looks murderous as she storms into the room, cheeks flush, and Rachel can almost see the aura of danger that surrounds the boss as she circles the desk and lands in her chair with a heavy thud, not even registering Rachel’s presence next to the desk.

 

Rachel gives her a few moments to decompress, taking in the boss as she rubs her temples with the tips of her fingers. Once again, she is wearing a grey suit, tailored perfectly. She notes the emblem on her lapel, this wolf is black this time, whereas Haruto’s was gold. It must signify standing within the family, she surmises.

 

“Hello.”

 

Quinn’s head snaps up in the direction of Rachel’s voice and she lets out a quiet Japanese curse, “Sorry. I forgot we had a meeting.”

 

Rachel smiles and takes the seat opposite Quinn, “Hardly a meeting.” She squeezes her hands in her laps, suddenly nervous, “Meetings didn’t go well, I take it?”

 

Some sort of emotion crosses Quinn’s eyes that Rachel can’t quite pinpoint, before it’s gone again, “You could say that.” Quinn sighs, feeling herself relax, “What did you want to speak to me about?”

 

“Oh, well, it’s just a small thing. We were with a friend, his name is Puck, he wasn’t with us when we saw...what we saw,” She ends, trying to gentle about it, seeing that anger in Quinn’s eyes again at the mention of one of her dead men, “He wanted to know if he could come and help us out, like protection. He’s lovely, and can be very discreet.”

 

Quinn takes a moment, the tip of her nail dragging along her jaw, before finally landing on, “Out of the question.”

 

Rachel’s smile slips, “I’m sorry?”

 

“He’s not a part of this equation, I have no need to offer him protection, as he wasn’t even there.” Quinn pulls a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and daintily captures one between her full lips, “He’s a moot point, tell him to go home. You and Santana will follow him soon.”

 

Dumbstruck, Rachel watches as Quinn flips the lid of her Zippo lighter, the emblem of a wolf splashed artistically across it, “He’s worried about us, though. He wants to be here with us.”

 

Quinn takes a long pull of her cigarette and almost huffs it out through a sigh, “Rachel, I’m not bringing __another__ insider into this. You already know too much, Santana knows too much, there’s no need for me to bring another person in that could potentially spill secrets.”

 

Rachel scoffs, “What, you expect us to go squealing to the police about your little enterprise?”

 

“Hardly little.”

 

“That is __besides__ the point!” Rachel stands from her chair, hands on her hips, one moment away from a full on diva fit, but she reigns it back, no matter how difficult it may be. Quinn isn’t some annoying student at college that she can just berate for singing to sharply, Quinn is a crime lord. “You really think Santana and I would just spill the secrets of your family, knowing full well you’re the one that’s giving us protection?”

 

Quinn seems to consider this, and flicks some errant ash into the ash tray beside her laptop, “How do I know you’re not working for Phoenix?” This makes Rachel pause, “After all, if they’re willing to stoop to murder, why not ‘hassle’ some defenceless Western girls to get the scoop on their rival family?”

 

Much to her chagrin, Rachel has no response for this; all those Debate Club meetings in high school were a complete waste of time. She has no chance against a seasoned criminal, a higher schooler, definitely, but not Quinn.

 

“Rachel, I appreciate this little debate, but I’m not shifting on this.” Quinn stubs out the cigarette, only half smoked, suddenly not having the urge to entertain it any longer, “I will protect you and Santana until the matter is resolved. Your friend can go home, or stay here, it’s of no importance to me, but you are not to see him, he is not to see you, and he definitely is not allowed in this office. Am I clear?”

 

Rachel bites her tongue to force back the curse and drops her hands from her hips, “Crystal.” She turns and with years of seasoned practice and storms toward the cracked office door, “By the way,” She calls out as she pulls open the door, coming face to face with a wide eyed and pale Haruto. She glances over her shoulder at Quinn, “Smoking is bad for you.”

 

Quinn seems to feign shock and pulls the pack from her pocket, “That can’t be true, they’d have put some sort of warning on the…” She pauses and squints at the packet in her hand, “Oh my god! Have you seen this?” She holds out the packet, showing the ever present health warning with her mouth agape, and Rachel sees red.

 

“You’re an ass.”

 

She slams the door before she can hear Quinn chuckle.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Santana knows not to ask when Rachel practically storms through the door, teeth clenched, practically seething, and just allows Rachel’s mood and her mouth to run its course. Haruto takes the seat beside Santana, hoping to stay out of Rachel’s war path as she screamed bloody murder about Quinn Fabray.

 

He has to agree in some regard, his boss was kind, but stubborn as a mule.

 

“The _gall_ of that woman!” She ends, slumping into a nearby chair in defeat, “I don’t hate people, never, it’s an incredibly strong word but I tell you now, I _vehemently_ do not like Quinn Fabray.”

 

Santana rolls her eyes, offering her open pack of potato chips to Haruto, who promptly takes one with a gruff thanks. “Yet she gave us fifty-four thousand dollars, knowing we wouldn’t need that much for clothes and shit? Yeah, total bitch.”

 

Rachel drops her head between her knees, “What the hell are we going to tell Puck?”

 

Santana falls silent then and Haruto finishes munching on his chip, “Maybe just tell him to go home. You’re safe with us, and I’m pretty much your bodyguard now.”

 

Santana chuckled, “Puck won’t take that lying down, but I have to admit, I’d rather he go home. We got into this mess, not him.”

 

“Maybe make him then.”

 

Rachel’s head shoots up from between her legs with a start, “Both of you, wait here.” She’s up from her chair and out the door before Haruto can even register that one of the women that is under his care has just run off. He jumps from the couch and glances out the window to the street, he sees Rachel dashing across back toward the office and making her way inside.

 

“Nani?!”

 

Santana glances over her shoulder at him, “Your grandmother?”

 

“It means ‘what’.”

 

“Why, what is she doing?”

 

“She’s gone back in the office.”

 

Santana laughs and shoves another handful of chips in her mouth; Rachel Berry was just asking to be murdered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Quinn Fabray!”

 

The door is slammed open and Quinn stares, slack jawed, her phone pressed to her ear. She covers the receiver with her free hand, “What the _fuck_ are you doing?!”

 

Rachel covers her mouth, “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’ll just wait out here.” She steps out quietly, avoiding the thunderous gaze and shuts the door behind her with a quiet click. She thumps her head on the wall a couple times, and as Kaito passes by her, he makes the expert decision on not asking her what was wrong, and keeps walking.

 

A few minutes later, Quinn is at her door, still seething, “Ass in here, now.”

 

Rachel follows, not wanting to enrage her any more.

 

Quinn is stood at her desk, arms crossed over her chest, “What the hell are you playing at?”

 

“I uhm, well, sorry for that.”

 

Quinn says nothing.

 

“But, I came over here for your help.”

 

“Now you want my help?”

 

“I need you to call my friend, tell him that he has to go home. You’re good at telling people what to do, tell him that San and I are going to be fine, but he has to go home and act like nothing is wrong.”

 

Quinn’s eyebrow flicks up in question, “You’ve changed your tune all of a sudden.”

 

“I just don’t want him getting hurt.” Rachel shrugs gently, “Please, Quinn. I’m begging you.”

 

She catches how Quinn’s fists clench at her side, but doesn’t question it, “Fine, on one condition.” Rachel nods, unbelievably willing, “You never, ever, storm into my office like you own the place. You’re a guest.”

 

Seems like a very easy trade, “Of course. I’ll never do it again. Cross my heart and hope to die.” She frowns at Quinn’s smirk, “I mean, not die, but…you get what I mean.”

 

Quinn nods and takes her seat again, “Give the number to Kaito and I’ll call him.” Rachel thanks her again and is almost out the door when Quinn stops her, “I trust you used the money on new clothes?”

 

Rachel smiled, “I did, it was very thoughtful of you to give us so much.”

 

The blonde smirks, “Hardly enough for good dresses.”

 

Rachel frowns, “Dresses?”

 

“Oh? I didn’t tell you? You and Santana are my new hostesses.”


	3. Chapter Three

To say that Santana was enraged was a complete understatement.

 

Ever since they had arrived in Kabukicho, they had pretty much ripped apart host and hostess clubs. Puck was a fan, naturally, because he thought with his penis, but for both Santana and Rachel, it seemed seedy to pay for attention, almost as if it was prostitution.

 

They had to admit, they never really looked into what actually happened in a hostess club, and what Haruto had to say did nothing to sate their fears. “It’s just talking to guys, sometimes girls, you give them alcohol, make them want to buy more, try keep them there for as long as possible and get as much money as you can.”

 

So no sex was involved, thankfully, __that__  tended to be what Haruto called an ‘Extra’. Hostesses could either choose to do extras, or not at all. Depending on the money.

 

Rachel and Santana promptly decided they would definitely __not__  be doing extras, even if they were offered a one way ticket out of Japan. Haruto took them to the closest hair salon, making sure they looked their best. Training begun tonight, and they had to be prepared before then. They had wasted half the day shopping, only for Quinn to drop the bombshell mere hours before they were due to work.

 

The women at the salon were goddesses, and worked in groups to prepare them, at Haruto’s behest. They never turned down the Wolf Family, especially when they were under the same protection that Rachel and Santana were under.

 

Within an hour, their hair had been washed, trimmed and coaxed into some form of hairstyle that flattered them. Rachel’s hair was up in a low ponytail, freshly cut bangs framing her face. She looked cute; she guessed that was the aesthetic she was going for.

 

There were always four aesthetic that hostesses that to fall under; sexy, cute, funny or beautiful. Rachel liked to believe she fell under all of them, but was promptly told that it was up to the club manager to decide what her ‘role’ would be.

 

Santana’s hair was pulled from her ever present ponytail and curled into a dream. It floats across her neck and shoulders, made longer by the extensions that the women of the salon had pulled out of nowhere. It was easily six inches longer, but suited her immensely. Rachel was sure Santana would grab the sexy role.

 

“Dresses next,” Haruto comments as he fires off a text on his phone, “Come on, got to hurry!” He’s practically speed walking down the street, and they both groan as they follow him.

 

“I wish I had napped.”

 

“Same.”

 

The end up in a small boutique a few streets away from their apartment. It’s cramped and filled to the rafters with dresses. Some are short, some are long, but all of them, incredibly expensive. Santana notes as she looks at one of the price tags, “No wonder she gave us so much, cheeky bitch.”

 

They barely have time to be measured and sent to the appropriate areas of the store, before they have dresses thrust into their hands by the workers there. Rachel doesn’t particularly like hers, a silver off the shoulder short dress, but it fits almost like a glove and she honestly doesn’t have the time to be picky right now. At least it doesn’t make her look fat. Santana’s, however, is unbelievably beautiful, a coral coloured floor length gown that cuts off at her bust.

 

“If I don’t make men drop their wallets to the floor and beg for my attention, I’m wearing this dress wrong.” Santana chuckles as she hands over enough money to pay for both dresses.

 

“You’re okay with doing this, now?”

 

Santana rolls her eyes and watches the woman behind the counter place the dresses into garment bags for easy transportation, “Fuck no, but complaining about it won’t change anything.” She takes the bags, handing Rachel hers, “Gotta earn that paper until this mess gets sorted out and then we can get our asses back to New York.”

 

Rachel can’t help but agree.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The hostess club, Star, stands before them, several streets closer to the main street, nestled safely within Wolf Family territory. “Naturally, it’s called fucking Star.”

 

Rachel beams as she stares up at the sign, it isn’t lit yet, but as the sun sets, covering the street in a fiery orange glow, she can’t wait to see what it will look like when it is. “Maybe it’s fate?” Rachel asks, nudging Santana gently.

 

“Maybe it’s a fucking mess. Lets get inside.”

 

Haruto chuckles softly to himself as he unlocks the main doors and allows the girls inside. It’s a decent sized club, a long entry way that leads to the main club room. A podium sits at the end of the hall, obviously for staff to direct people to their tables. They enter the main room and Santana almost cringes at the décor, “Is this the eighties? What the fuck.”

 

There’s eight tables, partitioned slightly by wooden slats, all mini booths, to offer privacy in a busy club. There’s a stage at the front, seemingly devoid of any instruments or speakers, which instead are hung in the corners of the room. Rachel can’t quite figure out why there’s a stage there in the first place.

 

Santana looks up and curses, “Are you fucking kidding me? A disco ball?”

 

Rachel giggles, “It’s cute.”

 

“You’re deluded.” The Latina glances toward the bar that fills the entire right side of the club, “God, please tell me I can drink while I work.”

 

Haruto nods, “Only a few though, if you get drunk, you get sent home with no pay.”

 

Santana grumbles, but neither Rachel or Haruto pay attention to her, “Who is going to train us?”

 

Haruto phone dings, a text message, and he pulls his phone free from his pocket to read it, “The floor manager, and some of the other hostesses. You’ll be in good hands.” He quickly types back a message and clears his throat, “Better do a good job, tonight, the patriarch might be coming in.”

 

Rachel asks, "Patriarch?" and Haruto explains that it's Quinn's position within the family. Patriarch is the leader of the family, followed by lieutenants and then finally, footmen. He either calls her boss or patriarch. Never by her name. It's not respectful otherwise.

 

Santana scoffs, “Blondie is coming here? She gay or something?”

 

Haruto frowns, “She wants to see how you do, see if you can handle the pressure, don’t tizz it.”

 

“Almost,” Rachel laughs gently, “You mean twist.”

 

Haruto nods, “Yeah, that.” He checks his phone again when it dings, “The manager is up the road. I have to head back to the office. Behave, and do your job.” He leaves without so much of a goodbye and both Rachel and Santana watch him leave.

 

“Hope you’ve got your big girl knickers on, Rach.”

 

“The biggest I could find.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The floor manager, Ryu, is unbelievably lovely and it's such a relief when he enters the club and bows to both Santana and Rachel in respect. “Such beautiful girls we have here!” He seems genuinely impressed with them and Rachel flushes, as does Santana, although she tries to cover it, blaming the heat.

 

He sits them down in a booth and proceeds to tell them the job and what it entails.

 

They’re to be hostesses. Rachel has been set with the cute role. Santana with the sexy role. They will be sent a patron, they will chat, have fun, joke and drink. Emphasis on the drinking. The money that is made in the club is mostly from alcohol sales, and the less alcohol drunk, the less money coming in. Hostesses are to make it seem like their patron is the only one in the room, dote on them, and make them feel special.

 

On the off chance the patron drinks a little too much, or tries to do something that’s against club rules (touching is strictly forbidden, as is soliciting) the manager should be called immediately to defuse the situation.

 

It sounds like an easy job, and Rachel knows she could talk the ears off her patrons and pander to them to make them pay for more alcohol. It felt a little seedy, but if her protection was on the line, she was going to do it.

 

Santana, however, looks like she’s about to hurl. The thought of being unbelievably sweet to patrons was something that she didn’t quite gel with. The manager has a resolution, and it made Santana’s jaw drop. “What the fuck is a tsundere?”

 

“A woman that is cold at first, almost cruel, and lightens up over time, showing their sweet side. We’ve been looking for a tsundere for a long time, you seem to be a good fit.”

 

Rachel bits her inner cheek to stop herself from laughing; it really was Santana’s status quo.

 

“Yeah, fine, whatever. So I can be mean?”

 

The manager adjusts the bow tie of his tuxedo, “Well, yes, but not unnecessarily. You may upset the patrons.”

 

“I’ll figure it out.”

 

Rachel knows some patrons will walk out, and she can’t wait to see what happens.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Rachel had assumed that the other hostesses would be stunningly beautiful Japanese women, and she was half right. They were, in fact, Japanese women, and beautiful to boot, but one of the hostesses was a significantly older lady that seemed to have a love affair with a leopard print jumper ensemble. The shock pink hair, was something else entirely.

 

Santana continues to stare, slack jawed at her, while the other hostesses introduce themselves. Horiko, one of the younger girls, catches Santana’s stare and giggles, “Don’t mind her; we have a few patrons that enjoy a cougar.”

 

Rachel involuntarily shivers in disgust, but chooses not to comment on it. It seems to stop Santana from staring, and turns her attention back to the girls in front of her. Horiko, Aiko and Keiko are lovely and around Rachel and Santana’s age of twenty-four. They’re all seasoned, having worked in hostess clubs for over three years and essentially know all the tricks of the trade.

 

They reveal as much of their secrets as they can before opening time. If you need to pee, do it now, you won’t have a chance until the club shuts or there’s a lull in traffic. Do __not__ drink too much. Always show respect to patrons, even if they’re assholes. Try push the expensive drinks, mostly the champagne. Act like you’re happy to be there, even if you’re not. If you’re sick, tough luck, put on more make up and get on with it.

 

It’s ten minutes to opening and the other hostesses are re-applying make up and talking with the manager, both Santana and Rachel have taken to their booths, side by side, peering over the partition to talk to one another.

 

“Why the fuck am I doing this?” Santana asks, maybe out of nerves, or perhaps just annoyance.

 

“Because we need protection until this can all get sorted. It’s a few hours of talking and drinking, you’ll be fine.”

 

Santana glares through the partition, “You are aware that I like girls, right? Why the hell would I want some gross dude slobbering all over my tits?”

 

Rachel laughs, “Imagine it’s a girl, I guess.”

 

“My imagination is good, but not that good. Maybe I’ll imagine it’s hardcore boss blondie.”

 

Rachel frowns, “You find her hot?”

 

Santana’s head seems to rear back from that, “You don’t?”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“Then what are you getting at?”

 

“Nothing.” The line manager orders the girls to take their seats and hits the button for the music. It’s just loud enough to hear, but not so loud you have to raise your voice. It’s some sort of ninety’s pop ballad and both Rachel and Santana finally understand the glitter ball as the lights begin to dim.

 

Time to get the show on the road.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first hour is the longest hour of her life. It doesn’t take long for a patron to be seated with her, and thankfully, it seems that everyone in this part of Kabukicho can speak rather fluently in English, if a few lost words in translation here and there.

 

The man is nice, but drinks slowly. He talks about his job, he’s a salary man and barely makes enough to pay the bills. Rachel wants to tell him to go home and save his money, but just smiles and tells him that he’ll get the promotion he wants if he keeps working hard. It’s a lie, but it compels him to stay and buy more liquor. The champagne is completely out of his price range, so just sticks to beer, the cheapest available, and continues to talk until Rachel is a second away from pulling out her hair.

 

Eventually, after an hour, he thanks her for her service, bows, and leaves. She blows out a sigh of relief when she’s left alone and takes a long pull of her vodka and lemonade. It’s not the strongest drink ever made, but if it helps her not get drunk, she’s all for it.

 

She can hear Santana in the both next to her, over the music which has now switched to something that she’s pretty sure is from the eighties. Santana is barely speaking, and Rachel aches to see the face that Santana is naturally going to be pulling right now. As a tsundere hostess, they naturally have to appear bored; Santana must be completely in her element.

 

Rachel is asking for another drink from a passing waiter when another patron enters her booth. He looks just as old as the previous guy she just spoke with, and wore pretty much the same suit, just a different shade of blue.

 

She puts on her best show smile and stands, bowing and showing him to the seat beside her. It was going to be an unbelievably long night.

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s almost two am and both Rachel and Santana are beginning to lag. The flow of patrons has yet to decrease; it was true that Kabukicho was the town that never slept. Men of all ages had come through, and now she was dealing with half drunk men her age that seemed to leer a little too much at her chest. One even commented that he enjoyed looking at her small breasts, and Rachel fought with all her might not to slap the smug look off his face.

 

Santana was growing increasingly more annoyed as the night went on too, and was now more short and annoyed with each passing patron, which they seemed to enjoy a little too much, much to her dismay. She knew people were into some really janky stuff, but how could you get off on being talked down to? It didn’t make sense.

 

“Kill me,” Santana mutters through the partition, eyes pleading, in the rare downtime they both had together, “Please, I’ll pay you.”

 

“You are not leaving me to deal with this on my own. Suck it up.”

 

Santana frowns and slumps back down into her booth, “Hate you.”

 

“Same here.”

 

Another patron quickly takes his seat in Santana’s booth and Rachel blows out a breath, thank God he wasn’t for her. She had been up too long, her back hurt, and she wasn’t anywhere near drunk enough. She had already been quietly admonished by Ryu for drinking too fast, now she was cut down to one drink every hour and a half.

 

“Please God, end my suffering.”

 

There’s a chuckle and Rachel stiffens in the booth, “It’s not that bad.” Quinn slides into the booth, sitting close beside her, adjusting the cuffs of her shirt as she settles in. The jacket is gone, and now only a crisp white shirt remained.

 

“I’ll have you know, this is quite demoralizing, and you’re only allowed to say that because you haven’t actually done this.”

 

Quinn smirks, “Who said I haven’t?”

 

Rachel blanches and Quinn chuckles.

 

“I take it you’ve already received your ‘report’ from the manager?”

 

The blonde nods, “Mhm…” A waiter passes and Quinn lifts a finger, instantly making the waiter run away toward the bar, “Champagne?”

 

“I’m suppose to order for you.”

 

“I’m the boss.”

 

Rachel has no snarky reply, so instead, sits back, crossing one leg over the other and waiting for the drinks to arrive. She can feel Quinn’s eyes on her, and tries not to crawl out of her skin, wondering what the allusive blonde was thinking.

 

“You’re suppose to chat, you know?” Quinn’s tone is playful as the champagne arrives, and waves off the waiter’s offer to pop the cork, “It’s part of the job description.” She pulls the bottle from the ice bucket and begins to unwrap the seal, twisting the metal that held the cork in place.

 

Rachel turns to face Quinn and blanches when she sees Santana’s face over the partition, apparently, her patron has gone for a quick bathroom break. She points down at the back of Quinn’s head and makes a silent kissy face.

 

It takes everything she has to not show any flicker of emotion on her face.

 

“What would you like to talk about, Quinn?”

 

Quinn smirks when Rachel jumps at the sound of the cork popping, and quickly tops up the dejected champagne glasses that hadn’t been touched that evening. All her patrons had been on the poor side, unfortunately. Her pay wouldn’t be fantastic, unless Quinn ordered a few dozen more bottles.

 

She doubted, however, that Quinn paid for her own alcohol in her own club.

 

“How has your night been, so far?” Quinn asks, dropping the bottle back into the ice bucket, leaving her full glass untouched on the table.

 

“Fine.” She’s happy to leave it there, but when Quinn’s eyebrow flicks up, she knows she has to elaborate. It is her job, after all. “I like talking to people, I just wish I could get customers with a little more money to spare.”

 

“It’s a double edged sword,” Quinn looks out to the stage area, the curtains still pulled, dejected, “They spend their money here every night, and trickle in the revenue, but they can’t spend too much in one night, because they want to come back the next night. Such is the life of a salary man, I guess.”

 

“You talk as if you know what that’s like.”

 

Quinn frowns, “I don’t.” She turns her attention back to Rachel, “I have money, I just don’t spend it on the attention of women… or men, for that matter.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

A slight shrug of the shoulders from Quinn, “I don’t need money to get attention.”

 

Rachel laughs lightly, “Are you indirectly saying you’re hot?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

Quinn says it so bluntly that Rachel can’t help but laugh. Even with a few sentences said between them, this is the most fun she’s had in days. Quinn seems a lot more approachable than the woman that sat behind that desk; she seems like an everyday girl, not the boss of a crime family.

 

“Really though,” Quinn shifts in her seat, seemingly uncomfortable, “You’re okay?”

 

Rachel somehow wishes that Santana would pop her head back over the partition, just for some moral support. She read people a lot better than Rachel did, and as Quinn watched her, betraying no emotion, Rachel found herself at a complete loss.

 

“I’m as fine as I can be,” She decides to be truthful, “I should be on a plane back to the US, right now. I’d rather be there than here, but if it means I’m safe, I’ll make it work. I’m incredibly flexible.”

 

Both of Quinn’s eyebrows shoot up.

 

“Not like that, I mean, flexible to adapt to any situation.” Then she pauses, “A little like that too, I haven’t been taking dancing lessons since I was three to __not__ be flexible…” She laughs, trying to cover the uneasiness that settles in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Good to know,” Quinn’s voice is almost strained, but Rachel is so embarrassed she doesn’t really notice. “I spoke to your friend, Noah Puckerman, by the way.”

 

She had completely forgotten about him.

 

“Oh? Did he leave?” At Quinn’s nod, Rachel blows out a breath, “Oh thank God, I thought he would give you a hard time.”

 

Quinn smirks, “Oh, he did.” She flicks her hand toward Rachel’s champagne glass, a silent gesture to drink, which Rachel agrees with readily. “He, and I quote, threatened to track me down and end me if anything happened to you and your friend.”

 

Rachel almost chokes on her champagne, “He didn’t.”

 

“He did,” Quinn seems both impressed and humoured, “I told him you were under my special care. He seemed to finally grasp that concept, an hour into the call. He was on the first plane out; I had my men tail him to make sure.”

 

“Thank you, Quinn.” Rachel settles her half filled glass on the table with a smile, “Truly.”

 

Quinn wafts her hand away, batting the thanks away, “Not a problem.” Quinn glances at her watch, which Rachel notes is a Patek Phillipe, one of the most expensive watchmakers in the world; she remembers seeing their watches on the internet, and they easily push half a million US dollars. Rachel blanches; how much money did Quinn have, exactly? “I need to head back. Your shift is almost through, right?”

 

The patriarch stands from her seat as Rachel nods, “I’ll have one of my men escort you and Santana home. Get some rest, it all starts again tomorrow night.” She’s about to leave the booth when she stops and glances over her shoulder at Rachel, “You feel safe, right?”

 

It’s such a broad and open ended question that Rachel can’t quite seem to find the answer straight away. Does she feel safe? She’s in a foreign land, with a crime family after her blood, staying in a place that distinctly is not home, surrounded by Yakuza. She works, technically, in a PG brothel, but weirdly, she __does__ feel safe.

 

“I do.”

 

The ghost of a smile lifts Quinn’s lips, and Rachel has honestly never seen such a genuine or kind smile before. She thinks about it long after Quinn leaves, and when the manager calls closing time, Rachel realizes that Quinn never did drink any champagne.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They finally get home around four-thirty am and both of the girls are so bone tired, they can only take off their dresses, hang them up and collapse into bed. Santana still sleeps in Rachel’s bed, if only to know that when she wakes up, someone she knows will be with her. It doesn’t bother her much, she likes to have that comfort too.

 

They’re head to foot again, drifting between sleep and conciousness, when Santana nudges her in the face with the tip of her toe, “Quinn came to see you, huh?”

 

Rachel, half asleep, slaps Santana’s foot away with a groan, “Yes, she did. She wanted to know how I was doing.”

 

“If I wasn’t so tired, I’d complain that I’m here too, but whatever, I guess.”

 

There’s silence again, and Rachel is on the cusp of oblivion when Santana pokes her again, narrowly avoiding her eye. “Puck left?”

 

With a soft sigh, Rachel replies, “Yeah, he did.”

 

“Good.”

 

Silence again, and Rachel hears Santana shift in the bed, making her way under the covers and settling down beside Rachel, face to face, “Still scared, Berry?”

 

Another open ended question, but Rachel understands what Santana means, “No, not any more.”

 

She thinks Santana has fallen asleep when there’s no reply, and she adjusts herself so she’s more comfortable in the dingy single bed, turning her back on Santana, so she’s facing the wall. She’s falling asleep when she hears a soft mumble, but it doesn’t really register.

 

__“Because of Quinn, right?”_ _

__

__

* * *

 

 

 

It’s Kaito at the door, absurdly early in the morning, instead of Haruto. He wants to take them to breakfast, and with a groan, both Santana and Rachel agree. They’ve only had about four hours sleep, but they try to make themselves presentable; Santana wearing jeans and a tank top, Rachel in shorts and a shirt with a weird Japanese cartoon logo on the front. She wishes she had grabbed more fashionable things at the store the previous day, before leaving.

 

They’re at the same resturaunt, and they order Haruto’s usual, as well as the strongest coffee possible that the resturaunt could manage. They’re ploughing through their meal with Kaito, who was a little more reserved with speaking and eating in company than Haruto was. He asked how they were, what they had planned for the day; just small talk.

 

“We need more clothes for work,” Santana comments, “We can’t really wear the same dress every night.”

 

Kaito nods, “Good idea. Let’s go.” He begins to stack their empty plates.

 

Rachel frowns, “No Haruto, today? He usually escorts us.”

 

“He’s on a job,” Kaito replies, taking the plates to the counter and placing them neatly, “The patriarch told me to escort you today.”

 

Kaito was higher up in the family than Haruto, which meant, that Quinn had essentially switched out a lower soldier for a higher one. “Aren’t you usually with boss lady?” Santana asks, almost playfully, side glancing Rachel.

 

“Yeah, I’m her security.”

 

“Then why are you with us? Shouldn’t you be protecting your boss?”

 

Rachel stares at Santana, eyes wide, “Will you stop?”

 

“She wanted me to protect you two,” Kaito responds with a shrug, “Come on. Clothes.” He’s very matter of fact, and just leaves the resturaunt without a backward glance. They see him slowly make his way up the street, evidently not wanting to wait for them.

 

“What are you doing?” Rachel hisses as they leave, annoyed at the pleased look that Santana has plastered all over her face. “Why are you drilling him for information?”

 

Santana, in mock shock, scoffs, “I just wanted to know why the guy that follows the big bad boss around constantly is suddenly taking care of us, that’s all.” Then with a smirk, as they pass the Wolf Family office, she whispers, “Maybe Quinn wants to make sure you have the best protection possible, hm?”

 

This time, Rachel does tell her to fuck off, because there is no way in hell she’s going there with a member of the Yakuza, regardless of how pretty and charming she is.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They use the rest of the money that Quinn loaned them on two more dresses each. They’ll rotate, after Kaito informed them that there’s a free launderette on the road over from their apartment. Most hostesses only had one or two dresses, and their regulars tended not to complain, but the girls wanted to be prepared.

 

Kaito tells them he’s going back to the office when they reach the threshold of their apartment; he’ll be busy for the rest of the day, but if they need him, they can call. He hands Rachel back her phone, which he had finally taken back from the third nameless guy, and leaves, telling them that his number is on the phone.

 

“Any messages?” Santana asks, hanging their garment backs up on a clothing rail in the bathroom. Rachel is scrolling through her notifications on her phone, noting the calls and messages from her dads, then messages from Puck telling them that he had landed back in the US and had called both Santana and Rachel’s parents and told them that they had extended their ‘vacation’.

 

“Just Puck telling me he’s made a cover story for our families. We should be in the clear. I have a message from my dad, telling me to enjoy my extension and to keep out of trouble.” She laughs, almost bitterly, “If only he knew.”

 

“Well, he can’t know.” Santana says as she emerges from the bathroom, “We need to keep our heads down until this is all sorted. We’re doing fine so far.”

 

With a sigh, Rachel chucks her phone on the coffee table and collapses onto the couch, “I guess.”

 

Santana heads into the kitchen and pulls out two bottles of water from their dingy little fridge, tossing one in Rachel’s general direction, which she somehow manages to catch. “Keep making sweet with Quinn and she might work a little faster, though.”

 

Rachel’s hand clenches around the cap of her bottle, “I am __not__ making sweet with Quinn.”

 

The taller girl drops down to the living room floor, stretching out, almost cat like, a smug look on her face, “Sure.” She turns her head to look at Rachel, who looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm, “I’m sure the boss of a crime family comes to check up personally, all the time.”

 

“She was just being nice.” The cap is off the bottle and chucked in Santana’s direction, which lands inches away from her.

 

“Girl, that wasn’t just being nice.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Blonde crime lord wants in your pants, Berry.”

 

Honestly, Quinn Fabray seemed like the type of women to get whatever she wanted with the click of her fingers, and that included sexual partners. Rachel was nothing special; even though she had amazing genetics, and a singing voice to die for, Quinn could probably bed half the population of Kabukicho and not bat an eyelid.

 

“She has given me no indication she wants to, Santana, even if I wanted to,” She adds, vehemently, “Which I most certainly do not.”

 

“Sure. You really are blind as a bat when it comes to sexual energy; Puck was right.”

 

“I am incredibly thankful to Quinn for helping and protecting us; of course I’m going to be nice to her. However, being nice, doesn’t necessarily mean that I want to bed her. She’s a criminal, for goodness sake.”

 

“So? It makes the sex hotter.”

 

“Will you stop, now?” Rachel replies with a groan, taking a long gulp of her water, trying desperately to cool herself down. While true, that Quinn Fabray was rather beautiful, Rachel wouldn’t stoop to sleeping with a criminal just because they had garnered some form of repertoire with one another.

 

No. Definitely not happening.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Quinn doesn’t appear during the shift that night.

 

To say she’s let down, is something she would never admit to. There seems to be a weird shift in the air, past midnight, though the other hostesses and patrons don’t seem to take any interest in it. She and Santana, however, notice the shift, and watch as several of Quinn’s footmen walk in the club, talk to the manager, and leave, periodically through the night.

 

Rachel aches to get up and speak to the manager, to ask what’s wrong, or even text Kaito, but she’s with a customer that won’t shut up about his bakery business and how he bakes the best bread in town. She tries to seem thrilled at how happy he is, but her eyes keep darting back to the manager, who is now talking to another footman that Rachel has never seen before.

 

He seems frazzled, a little worried, but nods and bows before dashing back out the door.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Kaito arrives, and speaks quietly to the manager.

 

Ryu ends up coming over, adjusting his bow tie again, before vehemently apologizing to both Rachel and Santana’s patrons in Japanese, so fast in fact, that Rachel can barely catch a word. Both patrons leave with the promise of free drinks for the next hour, and Ryu orders both Rachel and Santana into the staff room at the back of the club.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Santana asks, frazzled, pushing her long hair back out of her face, “He was just about to order two bottles of champagne!”

 

Rachel gawks, “Two?” Santana nods. “Damn.”

 

“We need to get you somewhere safe. Phoenix men have been seen in the area.”

 

“Aren’t we safe here?” Rachel asks, trying not to let panic overwhelm her, she wants to throw up, “They wouldn’t dare enter a hostess club they didn’t own, right? Quinn wouldn’t let that happen…” Ryu just sighs and Rachel bites her bottom lip, “Right?”

 

“That’s the thing.”

 

Rachel and Santana frown, watching Ryu fidget from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable.

 

“The patriarch is missing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

Rachel and Santana are promptly moved to the family’s head office. It’s the most highly protected building in the area, and they both note that many of Quinn’s foot soldiers are stood outside, watching the streets for anything amiss.

 

Ryu drops them off inside the building and quickly hands them over to Quinn’s men before wishing them good luck and leaving. He has to work. Rachel and Santana need to survive to see morning.

 

Kaito is enraged, pacing Quinn’s office, screaming at several men that dot the room. Out of respect, he bows his head to them as they enter, but continues on in his tirade in Japanese. Neither girl can make sense of him, but if the wild look in his eye was too be believed, Quinn was in trouble.

 

“Go!” He screams, watching as his men leave the room. “Fuck!” He turns his back to the girls and kicks the desk in absolute fury, switching his curses between both Japanese and English.

 

“What the hell happened?” Santana asks, moving forward to grab Kaito by his shoulder, just to stop him from injuring his foot.

 

He turns to face her, red in the face, chest heaving. “She had a meeting with the patriarch of the Phoenix family.” He clenches his fist, but Santana steadies him, both hands on his shoulders now, “You’re not suppose to double cross during a sit down meeting, but they did.”

 

“Phoenix?” Rachel asks, quietly, crossing the room to help Santana sit Kaito down on the nearest couch.

 

“Yeah,” He pulls a pack of smokes from his pocket, and lights one quickly, Rachel notes he has the same Zippo lighter that Quinn owns. “It’s meant to be a cordial meeting, no weapons, no fighting, all respect for one another.”

 

“What happened? Were you there?” Santana asks, taking a smoke from Kaito when he offers and allows him to light it for her. Rachel shakes her head at the offer.

 

“No, it was another lieutenant. I was scouting the area, making sure we didn’t have any nasty surprises.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long time before exhaling, “I heard shots, tried to get inside the building but I was outnumbered. I came back and warned everyone, they’re all heading there now.”

 

Panic fills Rachel as she listens to Kaito, noting how shaken he actually is; if Quinn was dead, what did that mean for the family? She pauses. What if Quinn was __dead__? She doesn’t want to think about it; she wants to believe that Quinn had some sort of secret plan to get out of such a deadly situation. She prayed she did.

 

“Aren’t you going?”

 

Kaito frowns, “No. I was ordered to protect you today. If it’s the last job my boss gave me, I’m going to do it.” He finishes off his cigarette and stubs it out in the ashtray in front of him, before offering it to Santana so she can do the same, “I’ll wait outside with the rest of my men. You must stay in this office, do you understand? I can’t protect you if you run.”

 

Both girls nod and watch Kaito stand, adjust his suit jacket and steel himself; it’s like a switch is flipped and he’s back to his calm and collected self. It’s unnerving, almost like the changing of a personality. He leaves without another word, leaving the girls to themselves.

 

They sit in silence with one another for a while, barely moving, hardly breathing.

 

“Well,” Santana blows out a breath, “This fucking sucks.”

 

Rachel just nods, unable to find the words. She stares Quinn’s desk, wondering if she’ll ever see the Yakuza boss take her seat again. She can’t exactly pinpoint how she feels; worried, scared, angry, terrified…it’s all mixed together and it makes her sick.

 

“You okay?” Santana asks, unbelievably quiet.

 

Rachel croaks out an affirmative, shocked at how raw her voice sounds, “Yeah.”

 

They fall into silence again, listening to the shouting from the street outside, catching the odd words in Japanese and English. The voices sound just as flustered as when they arrived.

 

“Maybe we should just relax? Try to sleep?”

 

Rachel nods, suddenly feeling how exhausted she actually is. It’s been a long day, and it’s probably going to be an even longer night. Santana stands and takes the opposite couch, adjusting the pillow to prop her head up. She stretches out as much as she can, trying to make herself comfortable.

 

“Try sleep, Rach.”

 

She does try, but after laying down on the couch, hands crossed over her stomach, still in a full face of make up and an overwhelmingly glittery dress, she can’t quite stop her mind from racing. Santana has luckily fallen asleep, arm draped over her eyes to block out the harsh light from the light above them. She wished she was so lucky.

 

Standing from the couch, she tries her best to move silently around the room, careful not to wake Santana. She circles the desk, running the tips of her fingers on the desk as she does, feeling the familiar grooves of the oak cut into the pads.

 

Quinn’s laptop is shut, probably locked, so Rachel doesn’t bother with it. She takes a seat, sitting daintily in Quinn’s chair, feeling the soft leather hug her curves, almost enveloping her in a tight hug. She sighs softly, glances across the desk; just a laptop, pen and unused paper, an ashtray with several cigarette ends, but nothing else.

 

No photo frames, no tell tale signs of a family; did Quinn even have a family back in the US, or was she alone?

 

There are so many things she didn’t ask the enigma that is Quinn Fabray, and Rachel silently chastises herself for not doing so. That night in the booth, she could have asked so many questions, regardless of if Quinn actually told her the truth or not. She wouldn’t hold her breath; she knew Quinn had to hold some secrets.

 

She pinches the bridge of her nose, fighting off the growing headache that’s forming behind her eyes.

 

She’s so tired.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She’s woken from her slumber when a sharp bang seems to echo throughout the entire building, followed by shouting, and then thunderous steps up the stairs. Rachel rubs the sleep from her eyes and stands from the chair, rushing over to the couch where Santana is still sleeping, barely having moved from a few hours ago.

 

“Santana, get up. Someone is coming!”

 

Santana wakes up in a panic, slipping off the couch and standing, fully alert. “Is it Phoenix?”

 

“I don’t know.” She hadn’t really thought of that, but panic begins to swell inside her; what if they had managed to break fast Kaito and the guards? They barely have enough time to make themselves look presentable before the door is kicked open, almost taken completely off the hinges, and both Kaito and Haruto emerge from the other side, Quinn Fabray between them, an arm over each other their shoulders, head floppy, chin to chest.

 

“Oh my God,” Rachel gasps as the two men rush into the room, “Is she okay?”

 

Santana grabs Rachel, pulling her back from getting in the way, “Let them do their job.” She whispers when the two men don’t respond. They place their unconscious boss on the desk, laying her flat on her back and Kaito quickly works on the buttons of her jacket and shirt.

 

There’s blood. A lot of it.

 

“Gunshot,” Kaito grumbles, “Two to the left shoulder.” He rips open her shirt, leaving the normally crisp white material splay across the desk, marred with blood. He holds his hand over the wound, ordering Haruto to grab some equipment from first aid; they need to work quick. “Girls,” He doesn’t look at them as he speaks, “Do you know anything about stitching?”

 

Santana balks and goes pale, Rachel nods, “I’m an accomplished cross stitcher. It’s not the same but-,”

 

“Get over here.” Kaito butts in, ordering over, which she promptly does. “I need you to hold your hand over her wound, hard, really fucking hard. I need to see if the bullets have gone through, and then I need you to stitch her up, can you do that?”

 

Rachel swallows the bile in her throat when she takes over, the palm of her hand pressed down firmly against Quinn’s shoulder. She feels the blood seep between her fingers and forces herself not to gag; she had never been too good around blood.

 

Kaito orders her to keep hold of the wound as he turns Quinn onto her side, checking for exit wounds. One travelled all the way through, one seems to have lodged inside. “I need to pull it out.”

 

Haruto is flush, sweat dripping down his temples as he runs back into the office and chucks a medical bag at Kaito, which he promptly unzips, “The fucking week the doctor is out of town, I swear to God.”

 

He pulls out thin forceps, which almost look like scissors, before moving Quinn onto her back again. He looks frenzied and his hand shakes as he moves toward his boss, “Move your hand, grab the rubbing alcohol, sutures and needle. We need to move fast.”

 

Rachel nods as she lets go, trying not to watch as Kaito moves the instrument into Quinn’s shoulder, effectively digging around for the errant bullet. Haruto is useless, stood by the door, sheet white, obviously panicking.

 

Santana quietly tells him to leave, sit down, have a drink, anything. He doesn’t fight her, and promptly leaves. It’s eerily quiet out in the hall. No one has decided to come up and gawk at their fallen boss, instead, they all seem to be murmuring quietly to one another downstairs.

 

She grabs the instruments she needs, and tries to remember how to do the appropriate stitches to try and seal Quinn’s wound. She’s never done it before, but it can’t be that much different than driving a needle through cloth.

 

She hopes.

 

“Yes!” Kaito exclaims as he pulls the forceps free, holding a bullet between the prongs, covered in blood, “Got it. You ready?”

 

She wasn’t, but she threaded the needle regardless, and moves Kaito out of the way. She places the needle on the desk and unscrews the rubbing alcohol, splashing some on the needle, her hands, and then with a light wince, on Quinn’s open wound. The woman doesn’t flicker, or even wake up, and Rachel finally realize what bad shape Quinn is actually in.

 

Her face is ashen, hair flat and limp at her face, blood splattered on her cheek and jaw, her hands are coated as if she’d tried to stop the bleeding herself. “You got this, Berry.” Santana says as she grabs bandages from the medical pack and tells Kaito to take a seat; he’s just as shaken as Haruto was.

 

The first stitch is naturally the worse, and the piercing of Quinn’s skin almost makes her throw up, but she steels herself and continues. She threads each stitch as neatly as she can, and hopes to God it doesn’t leave much of a scar. The wound isn’t large, maybe the size of a quarter, and only takes a few stitches to completely seal. It’s the same from the other side, which Santana helps with, tipping Quinn over onto her side, allowing her room to work.

 

Rachel spills more of the rubbing alcohol over both wounds, and chucks the needle into a nearby trash bin. “Santana, you have the bandages?”

 

“I’ll help.” Santana pulls Quinn up, carefully, until she’s sitting on the edge of the desk, Santana propping her up from behind. She passes the bandages over with her free hand and tries holding Quinn steady, “Mop up the blood first, it’ll wreck the bandages.”

 

“Kaito,” Rachel calls over her shoulder, “Grab two wet towels.”

 

He’s out the door before she can even finish her sentence and within a minute, he’s back, holding two damp towels in his hands. She and Santana take a towel each with a smile and begins to wipe the blood away from Quinn’s torso, careful not to nudge the sutures, and down across the swell of her breasts.

 

“Wow…” Santana breathes, finally seeing what the blood had been hiding. Splashed across Quinn’s upper chest, shoulders and the entirety of her back, was a masterpiece. A mixture of colour and line work splash across flesh, a proud wolf howling on her back, a mixture and swirl of golds and yellows, and Kanji writing. The colours are bold, but it’s obvious the tattoo is only half finished. The bottom of her back is still only line work, no colour to be seen. “I dig a girl with tatts.”

 

Rachel rolls her eyes and dumps the soiled towel on the floor, before grabbing the bandages, “Will you stop perving on the unconscious girl, please? Hold her still.” She does, however, take the time to appreciate Quinn’s tattoos as she bandages her up. She had never been a particular fan of tattoos, finding them garish and a little overbearing, but these seemed to be somehow suit Quinn’s slight frame. The colours used seemed to match perfectly with Quinn’s hair colour. It was artistically well done, and Rachel couldn’t help but appreciate good work.

 

It only takes a few moments to completely bandage Quinn’s shoulder, wrapped tightly across her upper arm and spread across her upper chest and around her back for support. Santana helps to tighten it, sealing it with medical tape to make sure it doesn’t shift.

 

Kaito takes his boss in his arms, carrying her bridal style toward the couch. He settles her down gently, propping her head up with a pillow. He pushes the hair back from her face before standing to his full height once more.

 

“Thank you, girls.” He turns to face them, eyes dark and serious, “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know what we would have done.”

 

Santana chuckles softly, “We only did what we wanted to do. Couldn’t let blondie die on us, could we?”

 

Rachel stares down at her hands, still caked in blood, and then over to the couch where Quinn is laid peacefully. After being cleaned up, it only looks as if the woman is only sleeping, but the sad fact is, that Quinn almost died.

 

“She lost a lot of blood.” She sounds numb when she says it, and Santana looks at her, worry etched across her face.

 

“We have transfusion packs. I sent some guys to grab them from medical storage a few streets away.” He seems almost relieved that he remembered to give such an order, “Within a few days, hopefully, she’ll be back to her old self, bossing me around.”

 

As they stood in silence, watching Quinn, they hoped they had done enough to save her.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Quinn wakes up, mercifully, and she’s back on her feet two days later. In that time, both Santana and Rachel have continued to work, making sure to try and push for higher alcohol sales while Quinn recovers and takes control of the area again.

 

Kaito has been working in her stead, and instead of one person guarding them at any one time, the number has increased to two. Haruto and the third guy that had saved them that fateful night, whose name they finally find out, is Akiro, protect them at all times. Akiro is the quietest out of the three men, and tends to keep to himself, but does his job thoroughly and makes sure the girls always get from point A to point B with no issues.

 

Quinn is locked away safely in her office; no one can come and go without express permission from Kaito. Neither Rachel or Santana had been able to set foot inside the office, even after some suggestive flutter of the eyelashes from Santana, who promptly gave up after the third ‘no’ in a row.

 

Everything in the area seemed to have settled back to normal, much to both girl’s relief, however, the silence from the Phoenix Family had set the Wolf Family on edge; Kaito especially. He assumed they were going to regroup and try for another attack, but if they did, he had made contingencies to make sure Quinn and both girls were locked down in a secure safe house away from prying eyes.

 

They had been working at Club Star for a week, and had only gotten better with each passing day. Rachel pushed for champagne sales, regardless of her patron’s wealth, and most of the time it worked. She had figured out ways to coax the Yen from men’s pockets, and at first it made her feel a little slimy, but her pay packet at the end of the night had grossly been boosted from excelled sales.

 

Both she and Santana were pulling in ten’s of thousands every night, and took a nice cut home. They had begun to settle into a routine; before work, they went grocery shopping or relaxed at home, watching a TV they had managed to buy from a pawn shop just off Main Street. They had breakfast every morning with Haruto and Akiro, and had finally begun to order different things off of the menu. Santana took to studying more Japanese in her downtime, trying to figure out Kanji if it was the last thing she did. Rachel studied an English to Japanese dictionary and practically tried to memorize it.

 

It was slow, but at least they had managed to make some sort of progress. It seemed as if they were going to be spending longer in Japan than they had originally thought, especially with Quinn being out of commission and no progress being made of the Phoenix side of things.

 

The routine was nice, normal, and they had begun to see the Yakuza that surrounded them everyday as just regular guys; they were kind, cared for their well being and did their jobs well. They acted like men their age should do, and most of the time, Rachel even forgot that they were hardened criminals.

 

It’s a week later, their second week at the Club, that Quinn leaves the sanctuary of her office.

 

It’s just past midnight and the champagne is flowing throughout the entire club; a champagne bottle at every table triggers what the floor manager, Ryu, likes to call Champagne Fever. He slashes the price of champagne bottles by half and in the allotted time, an hour usually, the hostesses are suppose to encourage their patrons to buy more before the time runs out.

 

It always works.

 

Champagne Fever is dying down, and Rachel is impressed she’s managed to get her patron to buy two, but doesn’t push for more when she realizes he’s started paying in pennies. She barely drinks any more; she doesn’t need to drink to have fun, especially with the fact that she was sure that drinking every night was beginning to wreck her liver.

 

Her patron can’t finish his drink, so she hands it to him, wiping off the excess water from the melted ice with a spare towel she has stashed under the table, in Japanese, she tells him to enjoy the bottle and that she’ll see him again soon. With a beaming grin, he bows and practically bounces out of the door, champagne bottle in hand.

 

She chuckles as the waiter comes around and grabs the ice bucket, quickly cleaning the table down for the next customer. Rachel waves at Ryu with a smile, a silent gesture that she’s ready for another customer, when she sees Quinn walk in, flanked by Kaito and two other footmen.

 

“Quinn…”

 

Santana’s head pops up over the partition, “Wait, what?” Her eyes bulge, “Holy crap, she’s here.” There’s muffled speaking in Santana’s booth and she growls over her shoulder, “I don’t need to talk to you all the time, Tetsuya, get a grip.”

 

The man falls silent, obviously listening to his tsundere.

 

“I think she’s come to see you.”

 

Rachel can’t tear her eyes away from Quinn, she’s wearing a suit again, minus the jacket, her arm in a sling. Obviously the doctor to her family had come back to town and signed her off with a clean bill of health; they must have done a good job tending to her.

 

“Breathe, Rach.” Santana drops back down into her booth and scoffs at her patron, “My God, man, stop sobbing. You’re ridiculous. Make it up to me by buying another drink.”

 

Quinn turns to her entourage and speaks to them quietly, before all three of them bow and stand by the door, obviously on standby. Kaito watches his boss like a hawk as she walks into the main area of the club, and directly toward Rachel’s booth.

 

“Ready for another customer?” The lopsided smile that Quinn gives her makes Rachel forget to breathe. Quinn stands there, smile slipping, “Are you okay?”

 

Rachel feels tears prick her eyes, “Are __you?!”__

 

Quinn laughs and slides gently into the booth, trying her best not to jostle her arm on either the table or the edge of the booth. It takes her a moment to get situated, leaning both forward and backwards to try and find a comfortable position, but eventually ends up leaning on her right side, her good side, facing Rachel.

 

“Getting shot isn’t the greatest, I can tell you that now.”

 

Rachel laughs gently, and wipes an errant tear that slips down her cheek; she can’t ruin her makeup now, not half way through her shift. “I hope you left a bad review.”

 

“The worst.”

 

They sit in comfortable silence together, until the waiter comes over and offers Quinn a tall glass of ice cold water and, to Rachel’s amusement, a sleeve of painkillers, four remaining out of the six. “Does it still hurt bad?”

 

“Just sometimes.” She flips the sleeve between the fingers of her right hand, “Hurts a little now, its been a while since my last dose.” She tries to manoeuvre the sleeve closer toward her left hand, and Rachel watches her struggle to pop the painkillers free, before leaning forward and gently taking it from Quinn’s hand.

 

“Let me…” She pops two with practised ease; she had taken a good few painkillers for hangovers since starting work at the club. Placing the sleeve down, she places two red tablets on the table in front of Quinn and sits back, “Take them, I don’t want you in agony talking to me.”

 

Quinn chuckles softly, popping both tablets and washing them down with a hearty gulp of water. Rachel sips gently at her wine, trying to avoid Santana’s eager gaze whenever she happens to pop her head up through the partition.

 

“I want to thank you,” Quinn starts, after seemingly struggling for words for a few moments. She raises her hand and knocks gently on the partition, “You too.” She smiles when she hears Santana chuckle on the other side and acknowledge the thanks with a light ‘no problem, blondie’. “If it wasn’t for you two, I’d most probably have bled out on my desk.”

 

“We only did what we wanted to do,” She echoes, having repeating what Santana told Kaito a few weeks ago, “We tried our best. I hope my needlework didn’t leave too much to be desired?”

 

Quinn covers a smile with her good hand, “Hmm…yeah, the stitches are a mess.”

 

Rachel blanches, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Understandable. You were under a lot of pressure.” Quinn takes another sip of her water, and Rachel follows suit with her wine, half tempted to down the rest of her glass; it might slow down her racing heart.

 

She hoped.

 

“I hope you weren’t too scared.” Quinn says it so quietly, that Rachel barely hears her over the silly ninety’s ballad that plays in the background. Rachel shakes her head, and suddenly with balls she didn’t realize she had, she shifts closer to Quinn, whose eyes go wide when they end up pretty much face to face, only a breath between them.

 

“I was, but that’s beside the point. You could have died.”

 

They’re talking so quietly together, that even Santana can’t hear them any more, much to her annoyance.

 

“But I didn’t.”

 

“You could have,” Rachel rests her hand over Quinn’s shoulder, just over her wound, so carefully, that she’s barely touching the soft material of Quinn’s shirt, “What if they try again?”

 

Quinn’s eyes darken, and she lifts her good hand and rests it over Rachel’s, “Let them try. They burnt their last bridge with me. Now it’s war.”

 

Rachel is so breathless she can barely see straight, and though it pains her, she pulls her hand away and rests it in her lap, trying not to notice the look of loss on Quinn’s face as she does. “I know you’re trying to save us and get us out of here, but please, don’t get yourself killed in the process. Can you at least promise me that?”

 

Quinn frowns, “You know I can’t promise that.”

 

“Then at least promise not to get shot any more, I don’t particularly want to make it a regular occurrence to stitch you up.”

 

Quinn smirks at that and nods, “I promise I will try not to get shot any more.”

 

Rachel blows out a breath, “Thank you.”

 

“I’ve asked Ryu to give you the night off tomorrow, both you and Santana.”

 

She hasn’t had a night off since she first arrived, and she hears the whoop on the other side of the partition, signalling that Santana had in fact heard the good news. It would be good to actually rest up and relax.

 

“Can I ask why?”

 

“I want you both to have dinner with me, my treat. It’s the least I can do after you did such a stellar job patching me up.”

 

“If there’s octopus, I am __there.__ ” Then a grumble, obviously toward her patron, “You’re so _needy_ , my god.”

 

Rachel nods with a smile, “I’d love to.”

 

Quinn beams, a wide grin that makes her almost look childlike, before her eyes drift away and toward Kaito, who is talking on his phone. His face betrays nothing, but Quinn watches with ardent interest.

 

“Am I boring you?”

 

The blonde’s head snaps back to Rachel and she chuckles, “Sorry, just thinking. I do have to get going though.” Rachel helps her stand, noting that Quinn looks more tired than when she had first arrived, “Thanks. Haruto and Akiro will bring you both tomorrow, so don’t worry about directions.”

 

“Okay.” Rachel, still stood, shifts from foot to foot, an amazing feat in such a small booth, “Goodnight, Quinn.”

 

With a small smile, Quinn brushes the tips of her fingers against Rachel’s bare collar bone in such a fleeting touch that Rachel barely registers it, “Goodnight, Rachel.” She side steps out of the booth and calls over her shoulder, “Goodnight, Santana.”

 

“Night blondie!” Santana is stood in her own booth, the biggest shit eating grin on her face, her patron having only just left, “Well…”

 

Rachel rolls her eyes, “Don’t.”

 

Santana pretends to swoon, clasping her hands to chest, akin to something in a trashy romance novel and tries her best to imitate Rachel’s voice, breathy and needy, “Goodnight, Quinn…”

 

“You’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

 

“And then I’ll have the bed tomorrow night because I’m pretty sure you and blondie are gonna have a sleepover of the naked variety.”

 

Santana narrowly avoids the wine glass that is thrown in her direction, and Rachel doesn’t care in the slightest that it will most definitely come out of her pay check.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

“Boss, this isn’t a good idea.”

 

Quinn rolls her eyes at her second in command, Kaito, as she finishes off her most recent email; permission to call a meeting of the clan heads to discuss Phoenix. She has been calling, emailing and texting her contacts for almost a week, to slim to no reply. Short of going to Tokyo herself, there’s no way she’ll get any reply.

 

She can’t leave, not yet.

 

“It will be fine, Kaito. It’s just dinner.” She flips her laptop shut and leans back in her chair, rolling her shoulder to ease the ache. It was still a sling, much to her disgust; the doctor had ordered it to be on at all times, except for sleep, for a month. Kaito had, inadvertently, damaged muscle as he dug willy nilly into her shoulder to grab the errant bullet from her failed assassination attempt.

 

He was disgusted with himself, offered Yubitsume, a ritual to cut the tip of his finger off in a deep apology for hurting his patriarch. She had promptly turned him down, citing that he was more useful with his fingers intact and the appropriate length.

 

“At least let me set up guard outside the restaurant.”

 

“I’ll still be in the area I control, Kaito, it’ll be completely fine. You know I can handle myself.”

 

He crosses his arms over his chest, “While true you are a skilled fighter, dumb luck at moving slightly to avoid a chest shot, is not enough to ease my worries.”

 

Quinn taps her index finger on the desk, “It will be fine.” She feels the tell tale hot burn of pain seep across her collarbone and flicks her hand toward the discarded box of painkillers. Kaito quickly retrieves two and pours her a fresh glass of water. “Stay here, continue covert operations, I want to know what Phoenix are up to.”

 

“They’re still present, but we usually catch the odd talk of plans, but the patriarch is being oddly silent. I fear they’re planning something much bigger.”

 

She nods, “Maybe so. Keep an eye on their side of town and have men stationed at the border until I can finally get through to the clan heads.” She pauses, an eyebrow flicked up as she regards him, “I don’t need to tell you that I want men stationed outside Club Star for the foreseeable future.”

 

Kaito nods, knowingly, “No need to tell me. I’m aware.” He’s also aware he’s being dismissed, but lingers regardless, regarding his boss. She looks a lot stronger than the previous weeks, almost back to her usual self, sling or not. However, something bothers him, “Quinn?”

 

The patriarch frowns; Kaito rarely spoke her name.

 

“About Rachel Berry.”

 

“No.”

 

With a sigh, Kaito nods. The point is moot, he turns and leaves.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

That night, much to Kaito’s annoyance, Quinn goes to the resturaunt by herself. It’s a traditional Japanese resturaunt, the same one that she had come to her first day in Japan, and made it a regular occurrence to come back at least once a week. Food was prepared behind a long counter that spread across the length of the shop, seats lining it. It was also a bar, the back wall lined with both foreign and Japanese liqueurs and wine.

 

The chef bows, his head almost touching his knees as she walks in. The restaurant is empty tonight, simply because she is there. She had called ahead and made sure that she and her two new hostesses wouldn’t be disturbed. The chef had done as he was told; he always did.

 

“Your usual drink, patriarch?”

 

She toys with the idea. It had been a good few hours since she took painkillers, and the overwhelming urge to have a drink was beginning to take over. Regardless of if her shoulder begun to play up again, alcohol would no doubt take the edge off.

 

“Yes, please.”

 

The chef takes only moments to prepare her drink. He places a crystal tumbler before her, it’s hers, kept special under the counter for her visits, and pours a few ice cubes into it. He turns, finding the familiar Japanese brand of whiskey that Quinn enjoyed the most and turns, pouring enough for one serving.

 

“Leave the bottle.”

 

He bows again, and returns to preparing his ingredients, chopping quietly over the clash of ice contained within Quinn’s glass.

 

She has finished her first drink, and the chef is pouring her another, when Haruto and Akiro arrive with Santana and Rachel in tow. They bow to their boss, then promptly leave when she flicks her hand at them.

 

Both girls look like visions; Santana is wearing form fitting skinny jeans and a crisp white blouse, her hair down and curled, eyes smoky. If Quinn had been so inclined, so would have bedded Santana already, but…

 

Her attention turns the smaller girl of the two, Rachel Berry, who looks unbelievably nervous. Her hair is straight, almost poker straight, only light makeup to accentuate her brown eyes, and the dress. Quinn bites the inside of her cheek, my god, the dress. Every woman should have a little black dress in their wardrobe, and honestly, though simple, Quinn felt the pulse in her neck throb as she caught sight of those damn legs.

 

__Control it._ _

__

She clears her throat and smiles at the two girls, “Right on time. Come and have a drink.”

 

Santana doesn’t need to be asked twice, and sits to Quinn’s right, promptly ordering a beer, while Rachel seems to fight between the idea of sitting next to Quinn or Santana. Eventually, and Quinn tries not to let it bother her with how long it takes to reach a decision, Rachel takes a seat to Quinn’s left and softly asks for a glass of red.

 

Then she sees the bottle of whiskey next to Quinn and frowns.

 

“You shouldn’t be drinking on painkillers.”

 

Santana chuckles, eyes peering over the counter at the ingredients that sit there; she sees octopus and practically beams, “God, you’re such a mom.”

 

Quinn drops her good elbow on the counter and drags her finger along the rim of her glass as she regards Rachel, “I haven’t had any drugs for several hours now. I’m fine, but thank you for your concern.”

 

This seems to shut Rachel up, but possibly only because her eyes are tracking the movement of Quinn’s finger.

 

“We literally just got here,” Santana groans, “Can you leave the eye fucking until after we’ve eaten?”

 

Rachel’s eyes snap up and she frowns, her brown eyes ablaze, “Do you want to sleep on the floor again?”

 

Quinn settles back, allowing the bickering, as long as she’s not caught in the middle. With a smirk, she lifts her drink to her lips and sips. Santana just looks amused, Rachel just looks… The patriarch takes a bigger gulp than intended and cringes as the liquor burns her throat as she swallows.

 

__Control it._ _

__

The saviour of the hour is the chef, who, interrupts the bickering and asks what they would like to eat. Quinn offers the two girls her opinion; if they want something simple, the flash grilled salmon is to die for, if they want something with a little more depth, the ramen bowl is a fiesta of flavours.

 

Santana orders the ramen bowl, and with a grin, practically demands that octopus be thrown in too.

 

Rachel orders the salmon, and Quinn goes for her usual, sashimi with extra wasabi on the side.

 

The chef bows and begins to create their dishes.

 

“So, blondie,” Santana drawls, almost at the end of her beer, “How’s the shoulder?”

 

“I have some nerve damage, but nothing that will kill me, thankfully.” She’s about to pour herself another drink, but the chef, who is brushing a yakitori glaze on Rachel’s salmon, grabs the bottle and promptly pours it for her. She nods in thanks and raises her glass, “Both of you, your quick thinking saved my life, thank you.”

 

Both Santana and Rachel raise their glasses and clink them against Quinn’s, and they’re all quiet while they sip.

 

“Have you heard anything new about Phoenix?” Rachel asks, watching Quinn out of the corner of her eye. Quinn naturally stiffens, and instantly regrets it when pain radiates across her shoulder blade. She didn’t necessarily want to tell the girls she was no closer to finding out what they were doing than a week ago, but she didn’t really want to lie either.

 

“Nothing as of yet, but I have all available ears out on the street. If they say something, we’ll hear it.”

 

“You still don’t know why they tried to kill you?” Santana asks.

 

Quinn shakes her head with a frown, “No, honestly, I don’t know. I’ve had several meetings with Phoenix over the years, and they’ve never tried to harm me or my family.”

 

“Why not? Aren’t you rivals?”

 

“We are, but we also belong to the same clan.” Both Santana and Rachel sit, completely dumbfounded, and Quinn explains, “There are actually ten families in our clan, but only the Wolf and Phoenix families inhabit Kabukicho. The families are all headed by different patriarchs, I am the patriarch of my family, Reo Yamamoto is the patriarch of the Phoenix family. We work separately, building enterprises and earning money for our clan, headed by our chairman. There are several other clans across Japan, but they never bother us, unfortunately we seem to fight amongst each other instead.”

 

Rachel rests her wine glass on the counter, “Civil war?”

 

Quinn’s head lolls to the side, “You could say that. Patriarchs can become a little power hungry, fall for the money too hard, and want to consume everything around them. I’ve had suspicions about Yamamoto for a while, we don't really get on much, but after the stunt he pulled at the meeting, it’s obvious he has bigger plans than I expected.” She pauses, hand tensing around her glass, “He aimed to kill, if I hadn’t have moved…”

 

The patriarch is jostled when she feels a hand on each of her shoulders, Santana’s on her right, gripping hard, Rachel’s on her left, gently brushing the material of her shirt, “But you moved, and you’re here.”

 

Quinn can’t seem to find the words, and just nods, swallowing thickly. She hadn’t really thought about her near brush with death, nor imagining what would have happened if she hadn’t been quick enough to move out of the aimed kill shot. Being in the Yakuza had its benefits, but it had far more downsides to outweigh the good. Yes, she had enough money to last her several lifetimes, the playboy lifestyle, the power of control, the notches on her bedpost; what what would it all mean if she was to be gunned down in cold blood?

 

What had she truly accomplished?

 

Quinn was that, Quinn was this; a true and mighty patriarch. A stable leader, strong and noble. A friend, a boss, a lover. A daughter. She hadn’t thought about her parents in almost five years, or her family in general. What would they think? Do they know she’s a criminal now? Do they know she’s a homosexual crime lord? She wants to laugh when she pictures the look on both her parents faces. She’d pay every yen she had to see that.

 

Would they even know she had died? Would they even care?

 

It’s too many questions that she has no answers for, so she just files it away, locked away in the memories that she had locked away all those years ago. They didn’t matter now, all that mattered was staying alive, and making sure the two women in her custody were safe too.

 

The food is placed before them, and the deafening silence soon dissipates. They thank the chef, “Itadakimasu!” in chorus before digging into their food.

 

Quinn watches both women with eager eyes, hoping they liked the food just as much as she did. Santana, mostly, said nothing, hunched over her bowl of ramen, slurping the noodles loudly, as is custom in most ramen restaurants. Different from western culture, in Japan, the louder you eat, the happier the chef will be; after all, you like the food so much to lose all form of etiquette.

 

Rachel, on the other hand, tears apart her glazed salmon into neat bite size chunks with her chopsticks, humming contently as she chews, eyes shut. Quinn’s hand tightens around her chopsticks, sending her piece of raw fish flying toward the edge of her plate. “Shit.”

 

The chef frowns at her, and she apologizes quietly, picking the errant piece of fish up once more. As she chews, she can’t help but imagine what Rachel would look like in bed, mouth agape, eyes squeezed shut as she worked between her legs.

 

“You okay, blondie?” Santana asks, before popping a piece of stewed octopus into her mouth. She’s regarding Quinn with an odd look in her eye, one that the patriarch can’t quite understand, “Little flush in the cheeks.”

 

“Fine,” Quinn mumbles around her mouthful, before turning to face her plate, staring ever so intently until she can no longer feel Santana’s eyes on her. The food is, of course, delicious as usual. “I’ve noticed how much you’ve both improved at the club. Sales figures are up.”

 

Both Rachel and Santana beam, the Latina a little more on the smug side, “Glad you finally noticed, blondie. We’ve been busting our asses while you’ve been out of commission.”

 

Quinn smirks, placing her chopsticks down on her empty plate, and bows her head to the chef in recognition, earning her a smile in turn.

 

“It has been noted. Both of you are to receive a bonus at the end of the month, use it to treat yourself. You’ve both earned it.”

 

Rachel shifts in her seat, “While I’m thankful for the bonus, the other hostesses have been working hard too.” She turns to face Quinn, “I think they deserve something too.”

 

Quinn contemplates this, and nods; her original hostesses had been with her a few years, and had continued to work steadily without any sort of issue. Maybe it would be an idea to give the staff a bonus, Ryu included.

 

“I was also wondering about something else, if it wouldn’t be too much of an issue.” Rachel bites her lip, “It wouldn’t use any money, if anything, it might earn you more.”

 

“I’m listening.”

 

“The stage, at the club, it’s incredibly disused and I was thinking that maybe we could use it as a karaoke platform?” At Quinn’s silence, she elaborates, “We already have a machine at the club, and we could get patrons and hostesses to sing, if they wanted.” Then she seems to swell with pride and Quinn feels herself almost swoon, “I’m quite the accomplished singer.”

 

“Oh lord, here we go.” Santana mutters, ordering another beer.

 

“ _ _Actually,__ ” Rachel butts back, glaring at Santana, “Both Santana and I are singers, and we’d be happy to get up there and whip up a good crowd, what do you say?”

 

There’s honestly nothing wrong with the plan, in fact, Quinn wonders why she didn’t think of it sooner. The stage had been an original feature of the club when she had first acquired the deeds to the building, but never really had the time to put any effort into using it. Karaoke was a big money grabber in Japan, especially in Kabukicho, so it would only make sense.

 

More so if two of her hostesses could actually sing.

 

She refused to mention that, while not quite as accomplished as her two guests, she could sing too.

 

“I don’t see any issue with it. You have my blessing.”

 

Rachel practically beams and raises her wine glass in silent toast, Santana and Quinn in turn, clink their glasses together. This seemed to be the start of quite the beautiful business venture. As they drink and laugh amongst one another, the two women retelling stories from High School, they don’t hear the door slide open.

 

The chef raises his head, ready to affirm to his new guests that the resturaunt was indeed closed, when the reprimand is caught in his throat. Three red chested men enter the resturaunt, gold emblems with the sign of a fiery phoenix pinned to each other their lapels.

 

All conversation ceases, panic flooding the two women, but Quinn is stoic as she looks over her shoulder at them. “Nandeshou?” She asks, wondering what they wanted. It pains her to keep it civil, after all, with the gleam in the three men’s eyes, it doesn’t seem like there in the mood to have a conversation.

 

“Anata no atama.”

 

Quinn stiffens; Phoenix had definitely become a lot more literal in the past months. They want her head, that much they have said, and obviously they mean to go through with it if Yamamoto has sent three lieutenants to deal with her.

 

“Mazu watashi no nomimono o shūryō sa sete kudasai.” She politely asks if she can finish her drink, and they seem amenable to that, after all, it would be her last. Calmly, she lifts her glass to her lips and takes a quick sip, “Rachel, would you mind helping me take my sling off?”

 

Rachel, eyes wild with panic, numbly nods her head and helps Quinn remove her medical aid, folding it with shaking hands and placing it on the bar. “Just to let you both know, these guys are here to kill me, but I’m prepared.” Quinn polishes off of her drink and stands from her seat, “Get behind the counter and don’t move.” She turns to face the three men, rolling her shoulders back, “There’s a baseball bat behind there, just in case.”

 

There’s a flurry of movement as both girls practically leap over the bar, the chef takes them both in his arms and makes them drop, safely hidden away from anything that may go flying. Just as Quinn had said, there was a baseball bat sitting right there, and Santana grabs it, “Just in case.” She sounds deadly serious, tone as rough as gravel. The beer has obviously made her confident.

 

Quinn watches the men, seeing if they’ll make the first move. She notes the twitches in their raised fists, how their eyes dart across the room and back to her, trying to figure out what they can use to kill her. It seems as if they haven’t brought weapons this time. Quinn doesn’t have time to be shocked.

 

They’re coming for her, all three at once, and she lunges up onto the bar, using her good arm as support. She spins on her heel to face them and kicks her half full whiskey bottle straight toward them. One of the guys knocks it away with his hand, and in the space of him trying to right himself again, Quinn has jumped off the counter, her foot aimed for his face.

 

He tries to grab at her, to stop the kick, but the bottle has him milliseconds behind the much more nimble Quinn. The kick lands, and he goes flying back, Quinn landing on the floor with a thud, flat on her back. It wasn’t her most gracious attack, but it did the job. The guy is winded, nose pouring blood, eyes raw and ablaze in anger.

 

The two other guys are at her sides, and she quickly flips up to avoid their grabs. She crouches, one hand to the floor, and swings her leg in a tight circle to trip them up. It works, and as they try to right themselves, she’s already up on her feet, grabbing a nearby chair an swinging it with all her might, painful shoulder be damned.

 

One guy takes the full force of the blow and collapses in a heap before her, slumped against the counter. He doesn’t move after that, but Quinn is already rounding on the second guy, and with no chair readily available, she punches him square in the stomach, and as he leans over, winded, she grabs him by the neck and drives her knee up. She hears him wheeze, and after glancing over her shoulder, she sees the guy with the bloody nose grabbing a glass to smash her with. She flings the guy in her arms toward him, but bloody nose is on the prowl, and he doesn’t fall for it.

 

It’s one on one, and Quinn is defenceless.

 

He’s homing in on her, and he smashes the glass on the counter, leaving only shards of broken glass in his hands. She steels herself.

 

“Hey, asshole!”

 

Quinn’s eyes snap toward the counter, Santana has rounded it, and is coming up behind him, brandishing her trusty baseball bat. She seems to swing with all her might, a smirk on her face, which quickly dissipates when the guy turns and grabs the bat before it lands.

 

“Fushidara na me!” Quinn growls at the term. Slut. She lunges forward and wraps her good arm around the man, who has stupidly left his back turned to her. She tightens her grip around his neck, and as he struggles for air, he releases the bat, bringing his hands up to try and hurt her. He manages to drag his nails down her cheek, and she feels the blood seep from the wounds, but the adrenaline is pumping so vigorously around her body, it doesn’t even register.

 

She holds him there for the longest time, until he finally goes slack. The fucker finally gave up and passed out. She releases him and he slumps the floor in a heap, just like his two compatriots.

 

An uncomfortable silence fills the room, which Quinn breaks with a light groan, collapsing into the counter. Rachel is up in a flash and at Quinn’s side, “What hurts?”

 

“Shoulder.” She tries to sound fine when she says it, but it ends up coming out between gritted teeth. Rachel has her arm wrapped around her waist, and her other hand holding her sling, “I need to see the doctor.”

 

“Hope you don’t mind chef, but I’m taking this bat for safety.” Santana comments as she wraps her free arm around Quinn’s shoulder.

 

“Of course, go, see she’s taken care of. I’ll call Kaito.”

 

Quinn’s vision swirls as pain rips through her, “No. Don’t.” He heeds her, as she is dragged away, “Son of a bitch will be smug as fuck,” She cries out when Rachel leans forward to slide the door open, “Shichifuku street, white building…next to the mahjong parlour.”

 

They don’t need to be told twice, and promptly leave, dragging a half passed out Quinn as they went.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They pass several of Quinn’s men as they head toward the doctor’s office. Santana orders them to keep this a secret from Kaito, and when they see the familiar glare from Quinn, they nod there heads and continue on their way.

 

“They’re good men,” Quinn grunts as they take a narrow alley. It’s not the best, but it’s the faster route to Shichifuku street. Santana is effectively the lookout as they travel, and they’re thankful to not come across a sea of red shirts heading their way. How did they even get past all of Quinn’s men? This was suppose to be protected area.

 

They finally reach Shichifuku street, and Quinn nods her head toward the correct building. It’s very nondescript. It’s just a regular building, next to a bustling mahjong parlour. “The doctor here works for us, off the books.”

 

“Can’t really got to hospital unless you wanna end up in prison, huh?” Santana asks, propping the baseball bat beside the door before pushing it open. “Come on, lets get inside..”

 

Both women pull Quinn through the door and straight into an open door that opens up into a room with four hospital beds. To say the office is dingy is an understatement, but it’s immaculate, not a thing out of place; it even has the familiar hospital smell that everyone hates.

 

Quinn dumps herself onto a nearby bed with a groan, “Doc! Ass out here!”

 

There’s a hustle of movement in an adjacent room, an office, maybe, before a Japanese woman rushes out, napkin still tucked into the neck of her blouse, half eaten sandwich in hand. “Quinn, you will be the death of me, I swear.” She dumps the sandwich and napkin into a nearby bin and moves to a sink to wash her hands.

 

The woman is beautiful, around Quinn’s age, her black hair cut into a sharp bob, tall and lean, and obviously an attitude to boot.

 

Santana knows she’s fallen in love.

 

She slides over to the doctor, sly smirk on her face, she leans against the wall beside the sink, “Hello, I’m Santana, and I believe you’re the angel I’ve been waiting for.”

 

The doctor’s eyes slide to Santana, “I’m Nozomi, and you’re blocking the paper towels.” Santana tries not to pay attention to the chuckles from both Quinn and Rachel, who are both sat on the bed together, and moves away from the paper dispenser that is on the wall behind her.

 

“Playing hard to get, that’s cool. I like a challenge.”

 

Nozomi smirks, “Good luck with that.” She grabs a pair of rubber gloves from a nearby table and with a sigh, makes her way toward Quinn, “What did you do now, Quinn?”

 

“Phoenix guys, three of them. Things got a little hairy, but don’t worry, they look a lot worse than me.”

 

Rachel rolls her eyes and nudges Quinn’s good shoulder, a silent admonishment. How could she be so blasé about it?

 

“Luckily for me, I’m not their doctor.” She snaps on the gloves and then smiles sweetly at Rachel, “I’ve heard about your surgical prowess.”

 

Rachel giggles softly, “Hardly. I made a complete mess of her shoulder, apparently.”

 

Quinn half struggles out of her shirt, Nozomi helping with the buttons. Eventually, she is freed and Rachel holds onto it for safe keeping. Nozomi peruses Quinn’s shoulder, prodding and poking, asking if it hurt, to which Quinn most certainly said yes to.

 

“You may have torn a muscle. It was already hanging on by a thread as it was. Congratulations Quinn, you get to keep your sling for another month.”

 

Quinn groans, “Fabulous.”

 

Nozomi’s fingers hone in on Quinn’s check, checking for any further damage that may need treating, “Just superficial wounds, thankfully, just a quick peroxide and band-aid job.”

 

“I think I got hurt too.” Santana slides back into the conversation, “My heart is aching just looking at you.”

 

Rachel’s jaw drops, “Oh my God, you’re even worse than Puck.”

 

Santana shrugs, “I haven’t been laid in almost a month and then this angel descends upon me? It’s fate.”

 

“I’m still in the room,” Nozomi mutters, unscrewing a bottle of peroxide, “This will sting, but I’m sure you’re used to it by now.”

 

“Sadist.” Quinn mutters, and hisses as Nozomi practically slaps a peroxide soaked swab on her cheek. Rachel grabs onto her hand, letting Quinn squeeze as hard as she needs to. It’s an incredibly quick job, and within only minutes, Quinn is freshly bandaged.

 

“I need to go grab some more painkillers for you, be right back.” Nozomi heads back into her office, and Santana takes it as her chance to get some alone time with the doctor. Rachel doesn’t even bother telling her to leave the poor girl alone; Santana wouldn’t listen, regardless.

 

“You okay?” Rachel whispers beside Quinn, hands tight around her shirt.

 

“I’ve been better, but at least I’m alive.” The blonde smirks, “Help me put on my shirt?”

 

Rachel shoots up from the bed and tries as best as she can to slide Quinn’s bad arm into the sleeve. She’s as tender as she could possibly be, careful not to jostle the area near Quinn’s healing wound. “You’re a skilled fighter. Karate?”

 

A small smile from Quinn, “Kyokushin style, I learnt it on my travels through Japan. Packs a punch, doesn’t it?”

 

Rachel circles the bed, sitting up on her knees behind Quinn’s back, “Very much so, if the Phoenix thugs were anything to go by.” She hears the hitch in Quinn’s breath as her nails drag along her upper back, over the swirling storm of gold and red, “I’ve never been much of a fan of tattoos…” The shirt is effectively left abandoned, hanging off of one arm as Rachel runs the pads of her fingers along the plane of Quinn’s upper back, “These are beautiful though, so artistic, they almost tell a story.”

 

Quinn’s voice is rough as she replies, “They do.” She looks over her shoulder, hazel eyes blown and Rachel tries not to gasp, “The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance. Aristotle.”

 

“I didn’t figure you as a lover of philosophy.” Rachel runs the tip of her finger down Quinn’s back, over the howling wolf, and tries not to lose her cool when she feels Quinn tense, “What is so significant about this then?” She taps the wolf three times, slowly.

 

“You really want to know, Rachel?” Quinn shifts, one leg on the bed, they’re so close, “Do you?”

 

My God, she wants to know.

 

“Yes,” She whispers, breathing heavy as Quinn leans in.

 

“Painkillers and, wow…” Both girls shoot back away from each other, Quinn with a groan, hand on her shoulder. Nozomi raises her hands, “No, you are not doing this here.” Santana follows close behind her, eyes as wide as saucers.

 

“I fucking called it, didn’t I?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter Six

It’s…awkward, to say the least.

 

It had been been a week since the __almost__ kiss and Santana has yet to shut up about it. Quinn has been locked away in her office with Kaito, who vehemently refuses to let his boss out of his sight. It was a sure fire thing that she would be locked down and kept away from any other threat to her life, but that means that Rachel hasn’t had the chance to even speak with her.

 

Haruto and Akiro update her pretty regularly, as much as they can, about how Quinn’s shoulder is doing. It’s not her fault she worries, if anything, Quinn could have __died__ again. They have no new information on the Phoenix Family, except that their numbers seemed to have swelled at all available exits to the city.

 

They’re both completely cut off from the outside of the city now. There’s no way they’d be able to escape under the radar, even if they tried.

 

They try to focus on work, and both Rachel and Ryu work the hours before openings to try and sort the stage out. It’s a complete mess, a tangle of wires and inches of dust cake the stage floor. After a week, it’s clean, safe and the karaoke machine is set up. The machine itself is completely ancient, and Santana gives it a swift kick when it crashes on the same note of a power ballad, which shockingly, makes it work a little better.

 

Santana tells Rachel she will not be known as the ‘singing hostess’ the night that the stage is opened to the patrons, but several hours later, and several glasses of champagne down, Santana is the first one up, air guitaring her way to glory.

 

Ryu practically has to drag her from the stage and back to her patron, who keeps bowing as she returns, and orders champagne for every table because he’s so __proud__ of his tsundere.

 

The air feels lighter, and Rachel actually finds that she’s enjoying the nights she works. The karaoke machine is a massive hit, and she notes that after a week, when she’s helping Ryu with the takings, that their overall revenue has jumped up almost a million yen. It’s huge. It’s amazing. If only she could show Quinn what their hard work was doing.

 

Haruto and Akiro naturally make appearances from time to time. Each time she sees them, they look more and more exhausted. Obviously sleep is not the top of their agenda. They check in with Ryu, have a drink at the bar, and leave again. Downtime seems to be something they don’t have the pleasure of, and she feels bad for them.

 

The whole family is on high alert, ever since the second chance at taking Quinn’s life, and they weren’t going to let it happen again.

 

On the off chance that both she and Santana have a day off from the club, Rachel stays at home while Santana runs their laundry over to the laundrette to be washed. She tries to keep herself busy, making sure that the apartment is tidy, beds are made, a list that hangs on the fridge door is filled with items they need to buy when they go grocery shopping.

 

Her eyes can’t help but drift out the window when she’s watering a lone gardenia that sits in a plant pot on the windowsill. She can see the office, the men stood outside, on duty. She knows Quinn is probably inside, and can’t help if she ever leaves at all. Does Quinn have a home that she goes to every night when Rachel is working? Slipping into the night, away from prying eyes?

 

She wonders what Quinn’s home looks like.

 

It’s probably beautiful.

 

She almost drowns the flower in her stupor, and shakes her head as she dumps out the rest of the water down the kitchen sink.

 

Santana arrives not long after, regards Rachel who is just stood at the kitchen sink, staring down at it.

 

“I’m gonna go see hot doc, do you mind? I’ll be back in time for groceries.”

 

Rachel’s head snaps up and she chuckles softly, “If you keep annoying her, she’s gonna end up injuring you, or drugging you with something.”

 

There’s a light smirk, “Drug me and have her way with me? I’m down.” She pulls off her jacket and hangs it up beside the door, “Warm day out today, so don’t bother with one if you head out.”

 

Rachel just nods and goes back to staring at the sink.

 

“You alright?”

 

There’s no words to really describe how she feels. Happy, sad, lonely, worried? Is there a word for a cataclysm of emotions that bombard her all at the same time? She wishes she were home sometimes, back in Lima to see her fathers, they’d tell her what needed to be done. But they’re not here, and all she has is Santana.

 

“Rach, no one is stopping you going to the office.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

It’s so raw.

 

There’s a sigh from Santana, “Look, I know I negged on you pretty hard about almost kissing blondie, but, it’s pretty evident you both wanted it.”

 

Rachel forces herself to stay quiet, hands gripping the sink.

 

“It’s not ideal, but nothing has to be serious. You’re acting like it’s the be all and end all. Go get laid, fuck her silly and get it out of your system.”

 

“It’s never that simple, San.” Rachel sighs, “I don’t plan on being here long, I don’t really want to grow any solid connections, just to leave them behind.”

 

“So that’s what it is.”

 

Rachel hums softly to herself and pushes herself away from the sink, turning to face the fridge behind her, “Go see Nozomi, tell her I said hi. Try not to make too much of a fool of yourself.”

 

A light chuckle and the door opens, “Only if you promise to do the same.” She’s gone before Rachel can spin to glare at her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She ends up just walking around town. Most of Quinn’s footmen know her by now, and call out to her as she passes, “Hey, songstress!” It made her blush at first, then it just fell into a nice comforting feeling. She was making a difference here, making connections, making friends, making…whatever Quinn was.

 

It was nice.

 

Most of the footmen that weren’t on shift often came to see her sing at the club. They say it helps them unwind, and she’s happy to help. The tension has been growing steadily over the weeks, and she sees it on each of the faces of the Wolf Family, so if her singing helps, she’ll keep doing it. She wants to help.

 

She wants to do __something__.

 

It’s the club she ends up at. She doesn’t remember getting here, but the door is cracked, which means that Ryu is inside handling deliveries. It’s only two pm, he should be almost finished. She wanders in, and she isn’t shocked to see crates of alcohol lining the lobby.

 

“Hey, Ryu.”

 

He pops his head up from behind the bar as she enters, “You’re not due to work today?” He checks his watch, “It’s not the right time, either.”

 

She shrugs, pushing the tip of her sneaker into the carpet, “I just went for a walk, ended up here.”

 

Ryu nods, knowing not to ask if she was okay or not, he wouldn’t get a clear answer, regardless. “Well, as long as you’re here, and have nothing to do, you can help me stock all this behind the bar.”

 

They do, together, quietly for almost an hour before Ryu lets out a loud groan and flexes his arms. All the bottles are stowed away, excess put in the back and stored. He’s thankful for the help, and tells Rachel so, before he grabs a sweeping brush and jumps up onto the stage to brush it down.

 

“Not going to be the same tonight without you and Santana singing.” It’s an off hand comment, but it makes Rachel smile, regardless.

 

“I could always work, if you wanted me to sing that badly.”

 

Ryu just stares at her, something indiscernible in his eyes, “You need a day off.”

 

She knows that he would love her to work, both her and Santana, but there’s a silent order that had been given to make sure both girls get at least one day off a week. It’s been in place since that night at the resturaunt, so it must mean that Quinn made sure to give the girls a little reprieve from time to time.

 

She’s thankful, but also a little annoyed. Working is all she can really do, while she’s trapped in town. It gets boring wandering the same streets, before coming across the line of footmen that guard the invisible boarder between Wolf and Phoenix territory.

 

It’s mundane, and Rachel hates mundane.

 

There has to be variety.

 

There is none.

 

Work, home, work, home, work, home, shopping, home, work. It’s all the same, and Rachel hates to admit it, but she is completely and thoroughly bored.

 

The only time there’s any excitement in her life is when…

 

“I think I can handle this now, Rachel, thanks for your help.” It’s a dismissal, and she knows not to fight her boss, so just leaves with a small wave and smile. The heat outside only seems to have increased when she heads back out onto the street. She wipes the sweat from her brow and heads back in the direction of her apartment.

 

Santana might be home by now, maybe they could go out for drinks after they’ve gone shopping.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Santana isn’t home when she gets back. The apartment is overwhelmingly quiet, and Rachel finds herself collapsing into the nearest chair.

 

She’s so bored.

 

She pulls out her phone, plays a few rounds of candy crush before losing the will to live when she fails on the same level five times and loses all her lives.

 

God, she’s bored.

 

She scrolls through her contacts, finds the number for ‘home’ and hits dial. She steels herself, expecting the influx of questions her dads are going to throw her way.

 

They don’t pick up.

 

Rachel sighs when she realizes the time difference, and that they would most probably still be in bed. She can’t even call anyone she knows.

 

Stupid time zones.

 

Candy crush is back on her phone again, and she watches the twenty minute countdown until she gets a life back, which she promptly wastes when she fails again.

 

She’s out the door before she even realizes what she’s doing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Two bodies block her entrance to the Wolf Family office.

 

Both men stare at her, even though they know full well who she is, and promptly tell her that no one is allowed entry unless they’re part of the family. Rachel knows she’s not a part of the family, but it stings nonetheless.

 

She doesn’t know why.

 

“I need to speak with Quinn.”

 

“The patriarch is busy,” The voice is familiar, behind the two men, it’s Kaito. He pushes between them to stand before Rachel. He both looks and sounds annoyed, he’s completely shut down, arms strong across his chest.

 

“I’ll only be a moment.”

 

“She is busy.” His voice is like venom.

 

She isn’t above pleading, but chooses not to, “Could you at least pass on a message?”

 

Kaito contemplates this for a second before he nods.

 

Now that she thinks about it, she doesn’t actually know why she wants to see Quinn, or what she would have said if she had been able to see her. What made her come here? She could be at home, waiting for Santana.

 

“Actually,” She sighs, “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for bothering you, Kaito.”

 

His body language shifts then, at the apology, and his arms drop, “Come with me.”

 

She doesn’t know where he’s going, but she follows him regardless.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They end up in an arcade of all places, three streets over. It’s mostly empty, spare a few teens that are playing hooky from school. Kaito and Rachel end up right in the back, between two claw machines that look like they haven’t been touched in months.

 

“Why are we here?” Rachel laughs softly, trying to break the tension laced within the silence, “You wanted a toy?”

 

“The patriarch almost died.” He replies bluntly, and Rachel’s smile slips, “Again.”

 

Rachel, wisely, says nothing. She doesn’t think she can.

 

“I don’t know what it is, Rachel, but my boss seems to go a bit dumb when you’re around. I don’t particularly like it.” It almost sounds like envy, the way he says it. “Quinn has always been a proud woman, strong and reliable, but recently, I’m having to fall over myself to make sure she keeps breathing. She always listened to what I had to say, trusted my judgement, but when it comes to you, she disregards me completely.”

 

Rachel has no idea what to say, except, “I’m sorry?”

 

Her apology doesn’t help.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but you need to keep away from her for the time being, until this whole thing is dealt with.” It’s an order and Rachel’s jaw clenches, “I need her focused on Phoenix, not you.”

 

“It’s not like I’m purposely trying to monopolize her time. I don’t go searching for her.”

 

“But she goes searching for you,” He pulls a few coins from his pocket, thumbs through the change, and slots one into a nearby claw machine. “Things are getting dangerous, and if I have any hope of getting her out of this alive, I need you to stay away from her.”

 

Rachel gets the feeling that Quinn isn’t aware of this conversation.

 

“Does she know you’re asking me to do this?”

 

Kaito betrays nothing, as he moves the claw, hovering just over the correct position before watching it drop. Rachel watches too, almost enraptured, as Kaito manages to snag a toy on his first go. He grabs it from the deposit slot and wipes stray bits of errant dust away from the stuffed owl’s head.

 

“I hope you’ll take on what I said.” He clenches the toy in his hand, then with what seems like disgust, he pleads, “Please.”

 

All she can do is agree, and she watches him leave.

 

She just wishes she could stick to that promise.

 

But she knows she’ll break it.

 

She breaks all promises when it comes to Quinn.

 

And she doesn’t know __why.__

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Santana is home when she gets back, laid out on the couch, thumbing through a Japanese dictionary, “Done drooling all over the doctor?”

 

She sighs softly, dropping the book to her stomach, “That woman is a goddess and she __knows__ it.”

 

Rachel chuckles softly, “Come on, San, we need food. I’m starved.”

 

They gather their things and leave, and it’s not until almost half an hour later, when they’re checking out that Santana asks her, “What does ‘aru hi’ mean?”

 

Rachel frowns, “It means ‘one day’. Why?”

 

She says nothing, but Rachel’s pretty sure that Santana has just fallen even harder.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She can’t sleep, it’s too warm and Santana is snoring.

 

It’s past midnight, and she leaves the apartment, intent on a walk. She doesn’t go looking, obviously she doesn’t, but she can’t help but glance up at the family office to see Quinn’s office window alight. She’s in there, or at least, Kaito might be.

 

There’s two different guys out front this time, and they smile at her as she passes. She returns it and just keeps walking.

 

Once again, she ends up at the club. It’s heaving, as usual, but Ryu still takes the time to greet her as he moves a patron on toward a booth.

 

“Twice in one day? Do you miss us that much?”

 

Rachel smiles, “I couldn’t sleep. Need any help?”

 

Ryu regards her for a moment, then smiles softly, “Sure. We could use some help in back. We’ve taken a lot tonight, count up the money will you?”

 

It’s work she could do with her eyes shut, but at least she’s doing something. Ryu wasn’t joking, they had taken quite a lot just in the first few hours. He comes to the office a little later on, when she’s almost done. “First envelope is for the family, would you be able to take it over?”

 

She __can’t.__ She’s not allowed.

 

“Sure.”

 

The envelope is bundled into a zipped up bank bag; it’s the most legitimate thing she’s seen since hanging around the Yakuza. Of course, they couldn’t use conventional banking with the sheer amount of money they make, but it tickles her regardless. It reminds her of her first job at the Lima Bean, when she was trusted with taking money over to the bank just across the street.

 

It almost feels normal.

 

Almost.

 

“I’m dropping off the money from the club,” Rachel announces as she arrives, “Is Kaito here?” She asks, simply because she’ll probably need to hand it over to him; nothing to do with wondering if she could get away with seeing Quinn.

 

“He went home, but the boss isn’t here either.”

 

Rachel glances up, the light is still on in her office. “But her light is still on.”

 

The two guys glance at each other, “Someone must have left it on.”

 

“Why are you both lying to me?” She presses one fist to her hip, frowning, “I just need to drop off this money.”

 

“We’ll take it.”

 

“It needs to go to a higher up.” Rachel replies, “Let me through, I’ll go put it in Quinn’s office and shut off the light as I go.”

 

The guys almost begin to sweat, “Please don’t tell Kaito you came here, he’ll murder us.”

 

Rachel sighs, of course, Kaito naturally told everyone that she wasn’t allowed within five foot of their boss. “So she __is__  here?”

 

They both nod, “She is busy though, so please be quick.”

 

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Rachel isn’t surprised at the sheer amount of footmen that are still in the building. The task of making sure that Quinn is safe seems to have doubled since her run in with Phoenix, that much was evident. Haruto is stood outside Quinn’s office, yawning, as she reaches the top of the stairs. He smiles at her sleepily as she walks toward him, then his eyes go wide with shock.

 

“No, no…” He’s almost pushing her back toward the stairs.

 

“Haruto, will you stop?!” She shoves him away and he stumbles back, “I’m just dropping of the takings. I won’t be a minute. I won’t tell Kaito you let me through.” She pushes past him and her hand on the doorknob when he calls out.

 

“You can’t go in there.”

 

With a frown, Rachel twists the doorknob and pushes open the door, “Watch me.”

 

She wishes she never did.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Quinn stares over her shoulder at her, eyes wide, completely bare for the waist up. She’s straddling a chair, bare breasts pressed against the wood, a man is sat behind her, low down on a stool. His hands stop as he regards her.

 

“Tomodachi?” He asks, voice quiet, which seems to betray his looks. He’s bald, covered head to toe in tattoos, probably mid fifties. He’s asking Quinn is she’s a friend, and Rachel would answer, if she actually knew what they were.

 

Quinn’s voice is low when she finally responds, “Hai.” Rachel fights back the smile when Quinn says yes; they are actually friends. The man continues his work, and Rachel finally notices that he’s using an authentic tattooing technique that she had seen on a documentary of Japan before the trip. It doesn’t seem to bother Quinn, or at least she doesn’t make it evident if she’s in pain or not, when he continues. It looks like it hurts.

 

The artist is thrusting his hand backward and forward in controlled movements. He’s holding a long piece of metal, it looks old and well used, several short needles at the end of it. He’s using brute force to put the ink into Quinn’s skin. He works fast, but also seems to take his time.

 

Rachel is enthralled.

 

She steps forward, placing the bag of money on the coffee table and sits, cross legged on the floor beside the artist. He simply nods his head at her, allowing to watch him work. The remaining line work on the bottom of Quinn’s back is being filled in, and he’s already made quite the headway. Over half of the remaining area is complete.

 

“If I knew how enamoured you were with my tattoos, I’d have offered you to come in sooner.” The tone is light, if a little playful. Quinn is facing forward again, arms braced along the back of the chair.

 

“It’s amazing…” She doesn’t mean to sound so breathless, but it seems to make Quinn tense and the artist sighs.

 

“Kinchō o yame nasai.” Rachel notes how Quinn suddenly relaxes and he continues. Obviously she was told off. This man must have balls of steal to tell a Yakuza boss to ‘untense’.

 

It’s obvious that Quinn knows nothing of Kaito’s order for her to keep away, and she doesn’t necessarily want to mention it either. Quinn could obviously veto it, but something about ‘sneaking around’ to see each other, seems…

 

She gasps and Quinn looks over her shoulder, hazel eyes almost completely green.

 

It’s __exciting.__

__

My god, it’s completely exciting.

 

The boredom has completely disappeared as she watches Quinn’s tattoo being filled in. It’s something so simple, but having such the presence of Quinn Fabray is enough to to make everything seem so exciting.

 

“The bag looks big.”

 

It takes a second for her to realize that Quinn Is mentioning the bag of money from the club.

 

“Well, I told you karaoke was a good idea.”

 

She’s a little smug and she lets it show.

 

Quinn smirks, “I’ve noticed the takings have gotten bigger, Rachel, you don’t need to rub it in.” She faces forward again, a wistful if not sarcastic tone in her voice, “How could I run my empire without you?”

 

“I honestly don’t know how you’ve made any money without my fantastic ideas.”

 

Quinn chuckles and the tattoo artists sighs, “Sorry, Aro, continue.” He does so, if a little more annoyed than before. “I still haven’t seen you sing…” She goes a little quiet, “I apologize, I’ve been a bit busy with things.”

 

Rachel nods, but refuses to mention that Kaito has probably been finding her things to do to keep her preoccupied. “That’s fine, you can always come tomorrow, if you’re free? Santana and I are duetting.”

 

“Oh? Do tell.”

 

She does. They’re both crowd favourites now, when it comes to the karaoke. They always tend to sing rock power ballads, and it whips the patrons into a frenzy each and every time. Santana’s patrons often crowd the front of the stage to watch their tsundere let go and have fun. She’s gotten bigger sales out of it.

 

Rachel, however, just likes to sing. She misses the applause from college plays, the crowds, the attention it garnered around campus. She was somebody, but here, she’s nobody. But when she’s on that stage, singing with everything she has, and sees the smiles of patrons and hostesses alike, she finally feels as if she __is__ someone.

 

“I’m glad you’re finally having a little fun, at least.” Aro pulls back and cleans off his needle, intent on changing the colour. He moves from black to a sharp red, it reminds Rachel of the blood on Quinn’s cheek from the fight.

 

“I’m making the best of it.” Rachel smiles softly, “Have you been okay? Your shoulder?”

 

“Is fine, with painkillers. Doc says it’s healing, thank God.”

 

Rachel nods and moves to allow Aro more room as he moves to Quinn’s left, to continue. She moves around, sitting in front of Quinn, on her knees, hands on her thighs. Quinn watches her under hooded eyes, takes in the position she’s in.

 

“Are you okay?” Rachel asks, but not about the shoulder this time.

 

She feels danger.

 

It __thrills__  her.

 

“Fine,” Quinn says, voice deep, “Are you?”

 

“I’m good.” She doesn’t mean to sound choked, but there it is.

 

“Rachel,”

 

“Quinn.”

 

They stop and stare at one another, and Quinn clears her throat, “I want you to know, that if we were alone right now, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.” Rachel exhales shakily, “It’s hard to control myself around you, especially when you’re sat like that.” She doesn’t really see what’s wrong with how she’s sat, “You drive me insane.”

 

It takes a moment for Rachel to remember to breathe, and shifts when she feels discomfort between her legs. She wasn’t expecting this, not today; it irks her that she couldn’t prepare herself. Before she can say anything, Quinn speaks again.

 

“You need to leave before I do something, anything, to you. I won’t force myself on you.”

 

Rachel clenches her fists together, “You wouldn’t need to.” She hears Quinn suck in a breath, it’s sharp, and it sounds as if she’s just punched Quinn square in the gut. The patriarch’s eyes are completely blown, breathing heavy, “Quinn…”

 

“Please, Rachel, I can’t. I don’t have the strength.”

 

“Then don’t fight it.”

 

Silence, Aro shifts, changes the colour, the tick of a clock.

 

It sounds as if it physically pains Quinn to say, “We can’t.” And Rachel knows that she’s just trying to fool herself. It’s silly, that they know they both want each other, even if it is just sexually, and they won’t do anything about it. Maybe it’s Quinn’s standing, maybe it’s because of a thousand other reasons that Rachel could list off.

 

But they want this.

 

Both of them.

 

“Okay.”

 

Rachel stands, and Quinn’s eyes track her as she does. She stands there, just for a few moments, lets Quinn drink her in, because it looks like she’s practically devouring her with her eyes. She’s never been looked at like this, not by Finn or Jesse or Brody. This is completely new. This is dangerously sexy.

 

It makes her feel invincible.

 

“I just want you to know, that if you asked me to stay, I would.” She pauses, and sighs, “That would be my choice.”

 

Quinn’s jaw clenches as she watches Rachel walk away, and sighs when she leaves the sanctuary of the office. She rests her chin on the back of the chair and shuts her eyes, trying to calm down the hot surge that rushes through her body. After all these years, she thought she had control.

 

Evidently not.

 

Aro coughs, “That was uncomfortable.”

 

Quinn chuckles softly, “I hate that you’re learning English.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my best customer.” He continues with his work, “She seems nice.”

 

Quinn sighs, “Maybe a little too nice.”

 

It’s true. Rachel Berry is much too nice for the cold hearted Quinn Fabray. Maybe in another life, they would have been compatible, but not now. They’re parallel opposites, and Quinn won’t drag her down with her. Sex leads to feelings, and that can’t happen.

 

She doesn’t want it to happen.

 

But that’s the problem with desire. It was a craving; a deep need that she knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore forever. If Rachel touched her again, or if she reached out to touch Rachel, she knew she’d crumble, simply because she knew what it felt like to tremble and crash before touching someone.

 

Desire so acute that it becomes despair.

 

 


	7. Chapter Seven

Quinn doesn’t come the next night, and Rachel tries desperately not to let it get her down. She throws herself into her work, and when it’s time for her duet with Santana, she does her best, and even better than that, screaming the words, hoping that somehow, Quinn can still hear them.

 

Santana notices the shift, but refuses to comment. No matter what she says, Rachel Berry will just do her own thing, as usual. They live in harmony at home, have fun while they work, but they never speak about Quinn or the feelings that Rachel might be feeling.

 

She spends her time with Nozomi, who after two weeks, has finally agreed to coffee. And only coffee. She tells Rachel, who just smiles and tells her to ‘behave’. She has no intention of behaving, but tells Rachel she will.

 

With Santana out most of the time, spending time with Nozomi, Rachel has more and more time without a buffer. She lets her mind slip from time to time, and generally, she ends up coming out for the worse because of it.

 

Quinn was a ghost again. She had no idea how to get through. Kaito was being as tight knit with security as he always was, but no one told him that Rachel had managed to slip through the cracks. He’s nice to her when they see each other in the street, and he even comes into the club sometimes to listen to the karaoke, sans Quinn.

 

If Rachel is spiteful that Kaito can come out and enjoy himself, she doesn’t let it show. She just does her job, goes home, and tries not to look up at Quinn’s office window as she passes.

 

* * *

 

 

 

A month.

 

And entire month and Rachel is drastically losing the will to live. Quinn is nowhere to be seen, but someone always has something to say about her. “She has the sling off finally, isn’t that great?” Haruto tells her, and she has to smile, because at least Quinn is finally healed.

 

It isn’t until Akiro is having a beer at the bar, Rachel joining him after she has just come off stage, when he says, “She’s in Tokyo.”

 

It makes her feel sick, that Quinn isn’t even in the same city as her any more, but she just nods her head and asks if everything is going okay. Akiro just shrugs, “I guess so, we haven’t heard anything bad.”

 

It does nothing to soothe Rachel.

 

Santana is making strides with Nozomi, over the past month, she has been staying at the doctor’s house a couple of days a week. Rachel is happy for her, but also not. She’s jealous, and she hates she is. She doesn’t even know where Quinn lives.

 

When she gets home, and Santana is with Nozomi, her girlfriend she says, Rachel gets a call. It’s her fathers, and when she checks the clock, she realizes that it’s early morning for them. They’ve been checking in periodically, asking what city she’s in now, and she just goes though the regular channel of lying through her teeth.

 

Oh, we’re travelling along the coast. We caught the bullet train, it was so exciting! When will I be back? I don’t know, Santana and I are having so much fun. Yes, I’ll keep you updated. Yes, I’m behaving. Yes, I’m safe.

 

And she is, but she’s bored again.

 

When she gets bored, she starts to go a little off the rails.

 

She’s just hung up with her fathers after a long talk when her phone rings again, and she assumes that her fathers have just forgotten to tell her something. She picks up, biscuit halfway to her mouth, “What did you forget, daddy?”

 

_“You can call me that, any time.”_

__

She physically feels her blood heat up when she hears the familiar voice, “Quinn?”

 

A chuckle, _“Who else?”_

__

“Are you still in Tokyo? I heard you were there.”

 

_“Mhm, meetings with clan heads. Boring as sin, but needs to be done. Yamamoto is here too, he looks unbelievably pissed. He keeps calling me yama-inu; that's rabid dog in Japanese, by the way. I just find it funny; he thinks he's being so sly using my wolf as a slur, but it doesn't change the fact the bastard can’t even try to kill me right.”_

__

“That’s not funny,” She chuckles, regardless. She likes this side of Quinn, this carefree funny Quinn.

 

_“Enough about me. What are you doing?”_

__

“I’m eating.”

 

_“I’m starving, what is it?”_

__

“Just a biscuit.”

 

There’s a disgruntled groan and Rachel smirks, __“_ You should really eat more than that. You work hard, eat to match that.”_

__

Rachel chuckles and drifts from the kitchen in a haze, collapsing onto the couch and stretching out, facing the ceiling, “I don’t want to get fat.”

 

_“I hardly doubt you’d get fat. You do realize you reside in one of the healthiest countries in the world? People live here to be over a hundred.”_

__

“Good for them,” She hears a low growl and she tries to not let it bother her, “I’ll eat some rice later, if it would make you feel better.”

 

 _“It would.”_ A pause, __“_ What are you doing now?”_

__

“What I was doing a minute ago when you asked.”

 

There’s a pause on Quinn’s end and Rachel tries to pick up any sort of noise. There’s nothing, no passing traffic, no voices, she must be alone. _“I don’t know why I called.”_ She sounds confused all of a sudden, then Rachel hears a shift of clothes.

 

“What are __you__ doing?”

 

Another shuffle, __“_ I just got in from the last meeting, I’m just sat on my bed.”_

__

“Where are you?”

 

Quinn laughs, _“Tokyo.”_

__

Rachel rolls her eyes, “Sarcasm will get you nowhere. I meant where are you in Tokyo?”

 

_“Just a hotel. Super swank, only Yakuza heads stay here. The bed is about as big as my office, it’s great.”_

__

She doesn’t want to imagine what it would be like in that bed with Quinn, but she imagines it regardless. She’s almost certain that Quinn would make use of each available square inch of that bed while she had her way with her.

 

The thought drives her mad.

 

“Lucky you. I’m on the couch.”

 

 _“Eating on the couch is bad manners.”_ Quinn’s voice changes ever so slightly, maybe a little lower, deeper and primal.

 

“I apologize for my bad manners, Miss Fabray.” She means it jokingly, just to cut through the tension, and drops the half eaten biscuit on the table beside her, but when she hears Quinn’s breathing change, she knows it’s the office all over again. She should hang up, but she can’t bring herself to. “W-what are you doing?” She hates that she stutters.

 

 _“I shouldn’t have called.”_ She repeats, and Rachel waits for the inevitable dialling tone, but there’s nothing. Quinn is still on the other side, silent, biding her time. Rachel decides to brave.

 

“Why?”

 

 _“You know why, Rachel…”_ There’s a sigh, _“I told you…I’m not very good with being in control when you’re around me. It’s like a switch is flipped when I see or hear you.”_

__

“Why do you need to control yourself?” Rachel asks, voice catching, “I told you, I’d let you if you wanted to. It’s what I want, and it’s obviously what you want too.”

 

_“We can’t.”_

__

Her eyes shut, and she counts to five, “I’m fed up of hearing that.”

 

 _“I’m fed up of feeling like this. We can’t always win, Rachel.”_ There’s a shift, it sounds like Quinn is getting up, or moving around, something, she can’t quite pinpoint it, __“_ You wouldn’t like it. You don’t seem like the type.”_

__

Now she’s just confused, “You mean sex? I’ve had sex before, Quinn, I didn’t grow up in a convent.” Now she hears it, the flip of a Zippo lighter, “Smoking is bad for you.”

 

 _“I’m aware.”_ A deep inhale and Rachel rolls her eyes. __“_ I’m also aware you’ve had sex, Rachel, but what sort of sex?”_

__

Baffled, she tries to come up with something, “How do you mean? Like, positions?”

 

She hears Quinn chuckle, dark and dangerous, _“My god, you really have no idea.”_

__

Rachel bristles at that and huffs, “You’re not explaining yourself very well, that’s why. Try being more eloquent, it helps, I find.”

 

There’s silence, and Rachel has to check that Quinn is still on the line. She is, and she can only slightly pick up the sound of Quinn smoking her cigarette. They’re silent together, on the phone, until it seems like Quinn finishes her cigarette and she’s moving again.

 

 _“When you first saw my tattoos…”_ Quinn pauses, __“_ Do you remember what you asked me?”_

__

She does, she hasn’t stopped thinking about it since. “When I asked what they meant?” Quinn hums slightly and Rachel takes a deep breath, almost readying herself. She isn’t quite sure what she’s preparing herself for; maybe Quinn is going to spill some lifelong secret, maybe she’s just going to tease and not tell. Who knows.

 

 _“You really want to know? Do you?”_ It feels like deja-vu, Quinn asked the exact same thing before, and it seems this time, they won’t get disturbed. _“I’ll tell you, if you want me to.”_

__

Rachel gasps, and she has no idea why; maybe it’s Quinn’s breathy voice, maybe the thought of the almost kiss after she had asked in the doctor’s office, maybe it’s the thought of tasting the smoke on Quinn’s tongue while they kiss. “I do.”

 

There’s a deep sigh and Rachel forces herself to stay patient.

 

_“Wolves are known for their pride and strength, I like to think I adhere to that. I’ve crafted myself into the perfect leader, simply because I had to. A wolf seemed apt, and it stuck with me. It made me strong. It made me brave. It made me powerful.”_

 

Rachel loses all breath.

 

_“I’m the alpha of my family, and I take pride in that. I protect them, I make sure my family is safe. It’s what I’m suppose to do. I take the pressure and the pain, and I grow from it. I’ve learnt to deal with pain in different ways. I turn it into pleasure.”_

__

She feels faint.

 

_“Do you understand, Rachel? The wolf is me, and I am the wolf. It’ll always be that way. It’s etched into my skin and it won’t ever go away. I control, I dominate, I fight, I take. It’s who I am. It makes me strong.”_

__

Her body shakes.

 

_“I want you to want me, I want you to crave my touch. I want to take you and make you feel things you’ve never thought could be felt. I want to destroy you from the inside out and put you together again.” A pause, “The question is; will you let me?”_

 

It’s dangerous, and thrilling, and exciting, and everything she has been craving. It only takes a moment, and she’s breathless when she responds.

 

“My god, yes…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Rachel doesn’t tell Santana about the call the next day, when she finally returns from Nozomi’s. It’s too personal, too intimate to share. She acts like nothing has changed, and asks how everything went with the good doctor before Santana begs off for a nap before work.

 

They’re both happy, it seems. Rachel’s happy for them.

 

Quinn said she’ll be back today, around the time the club opens. She has some things to attend to first, then she’ll be over. Rachel doesn’t tell her not to, in fact, she wants her to, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s completely terrified.

 

They’ll drink at the club, Rachel is only singing, no hostessing, at Quinn’s behest. She’ll text Ryu. She tells Rachel to leave it in her hands, she’ll sort it.

 

Rachel lets her.

 

She takes too long preparing herself for her shift. She wears the black dress she wore that night at the restaurant, the one that seemed to start it all. She fights with her hair for almost an hour before it finally manages to go into all the right places, down, cradling her face, light waves. She doesn’t bother with too much makeup, she feels as if it isn’t really needed.

 

If Quinn is to be believed, it’ll probably be washed away with sweat by the end of the night, anyway.

 

The nerves only seem to multiply when they’re getting ready to leave, Santana running a nude lipstick along her lips as she grabs her phone off the coffee table. She checks her messages, smiles, and responds.

 

“Nozomi?”

 

Santana smirks, “My girl is coming tonight. She wants to see me in action, and not the naked type.”

 

Rachel chuckles softly; thank God she has Santana, “It’s going well, then?”

 

In a moment of no control, Santana’s eyes seem to shine, then she coughs and nods, “Yeah. It’s good.”

 

There’s nothing more to be said, and as they walk to the bar, they tell footmen that aren’t on duty to come to club around eleven; the karaoke is going to be amazing tonight. They say they can’t wait, and head on their way.

 

“You doing okay?” It’s the first time Santana’s asked in over a month, “You’re practically vibrating.”

 

She wants to tell her, truly she does. She wants to ask if Nozomi is dominating in the bedroom, if it’s natural, if it hurts. She regrets all the google searches. She ended up on some pretty sketchy websites and now she’s pretty sure she’ll have a panic attack if she ever sees nipple clamps. Santana would never judge her, that much she knows; sure, she’ll rip her to shreds and make fun of her, but it comes from a place of love.

 

But she can’t. It’s private, too private. It’s just for her and Quinn.

 

“Just excited.”

 

Santana smirks, “Because blondie is back from Tokyo?” She wants to ask how she knows Quinn is back, but she just assumes one of Quinn’s men told her. Everyone knows when the patriarch is on her way back home, everyone goes back onto high alert.

 

“I guess so.” She’s shit at lying.

 

“Any progress with her? You know, after the ‘almost kiss’.” She scrunches her lips together and playfully dips in for a kiss, which Rachel promptly avoids.

 

“No, nothing else has happened, San.”

 

“Shame, you two would make amazing Yakuza babies.”

 

It’s a throwaway comment, but it gives Rachel pause, because children with Quinn Fabray, the wolf of Kabukicho, is something completely terrifying and too real for her to handle.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Rachel tries to focus on her job. She’s on bar duty, between jumping on and off the stage to prepare the karaoke. Her eyes keep shooting the doors every time they open, but she knows it isn’t Quinn yet, it’s nowhere near the right time.

 

She can’t help but watch the clock when she has some downtime between orders, waiting for the karaoke to open, waiting for people to serve, waiting for Quinn. Time travels too slowly, and it doesn’t nothing to ease her apprehension.

 

Eventually, it’s eleven, and it’s finally time for karaoke. She walks onto the stage and flips on the machine, making sure the projector is on and showing the words on the screen behind her. Everything works, just as it always does, and with a sigh, she begins to whip the small crowd into a frenzy.

 

Santana watches her with a smirk, purposely ignoring her patron that stares at her with wonder in his eyes.

 

Several of the hostesses come up for the first song, a group song of a J-Pop song that’s currently popular. The patrons are only seconds away from throwing their money directly at the girls, but that’s the whole point.

 

Santana is up next, just in time for when Nozomi finally walks in. She looks completely different, happier maybe? She can’t take her eyes off Santana as she sings, and the smug look of satisfaction on Nozomi’s face is enough to make her giggle.

 

It’s like they were made for each other. She wonders who wears the pants in the relationship; probably Nozomi.

 

She’s halfway through pulling a beer for Akiro when the doors open again. It’s just past midnight when Quinn breezes into the club, and Rachel feels her breath catch. She looks positively regal, practically ignoring the people that bow to her as she enters.

 

Wearing her usual grey suit, she seems to wear it different, and Rachel can’t figure out how. Perhaps it’s the lack of sling, but Quinn looks more confident, more strong…more powerful. Her hair is down and flowing past her shoulders, and it shocks Rachel how ‘normal’ the blonde looks. If she saw her in the street, she’d probably think she was just a regular girl.

 

But that suit hides the raging wolf below and as Quinn’s eyes lock with hers, she feels the last part of her sanity slip away.

 

She mercifully manages to finish Akiro’s drink and hands it to him, shocked to find her hand has stopped shaking. Her mind is calm, and it baffles her. The judgement has been handed down, she’s excepted it. It’s going to happen.

 

Akiro jumps from his seat and bows at Quinn as she moves toward the bar, and Rachel notes that the room has suddenly turned more sedate. The loud conversations between friends and hostesses have quietened down into quiet murmurs.

 

Quinn notes this and turns to face the room, “Drinks for everyone!”

 

The cheers are deafening and Ryu, along with the other barman, begin to work on the large drink order. Champagne bottles are lined across the bar, hostesses grab them and take them back to tables, footmen down beer like it’s the last they’ll ever have.

 

Quinn smirks. Rachel just tries to breathe.

 

Rachel takes the time to pour Quinn her own drink, whiskey on the rocks, as little ice as possible. Santana is back on the stage, along with Nozomi, singing a duet, which Rachel already knows all the words to. She’s practically memorized every song the machine has to offer.

 

“Doc and Santana?” Quinn asks, back to Rachel, watching the stage.

 

“They’ve been dating about a month.”

 

Quinn hums and sips at her drink, “Good for them.”

 

Rachel doesn’t know what to say, so she travels up the bar and serves waiting footmen and patrons. They’re already have cut, but they tip well, so it’s a bonus. She’s just finished with the group when Ryu tells her she’s up next on stage, and this catches Quinn’s attention.

 

“A solo?”

 

Rachel smiles, shy all of a suddenly, “Yeah, unless you wanna come up and sing with me?” She’s joking.

 

It’s suppose to be a joke.

 

But Quinn is out of her seat, polishing off her drink and moving toward the stage. She notices that Rachel is still stood behind the bar and pins her with a stare that just…makes her move. She doesn’t know what it is, but she follows, and ends up on stage, to the right of Quinn and her hands go back to shaking.

 

“Pick a song.” Quinn tells her. It’s a command. Rachel complies without hesitation. She skims through the song list and loses her breath when a certain song appears. She glances over her shoulder at Quinn, who is chuckling gently at one of her footmen at the edge of the stage, he’s already cheering his boss on and she hasn’t even done anything.

 

She looks ethereal.

 

Rachel grabs two microphones and hands one to Quinn, who takes it, that hungry look in her eye. Rachel swallows, “I hope you know the lyrics.”

 

Quinn smirks, “I probably do.”

 

Rachel hits the button and steels herself.

 

<https://youtu.be/tZEQUapzq5g>

 

There’s a heavy drum, keyboard and electric guitar. It pounds around the stage, filling the room. Everyone is enraptured. Rachel, their songstress, Quinn, their patriarch.

 

Rachel lifts the microphone to her lips, not able to bring herself to quite look at Quinn. She stares out to the room, eyes landing on Santana, whose eyes are wide, but a knowing smirk on her face.

 

_Something sparked within me ,  a flame ignited in my fragile heart. / And before I knew It was burning ,   s corching me right from the start. / Fluttering, my impulse; a naive, prying little Butterfly . /  Gracefully it gathers the passion I hold deep inside._

__

Quinn’s hand grabs hers as Quinn begins to sing and her head snaps to her, eyes wide.

 

_Come my darling, have our fingers intertwine , l et me taste your lips as we cross the line.  / If this world can’t see that what we have is love.  /  Our flame will grow ,   t onight I’m letting go._

__

Rachel’s fingers intertwine with Quinn’s, unable to look away.

 

_I wanna hold you in my arms a nd heal my open wounds and scars  /  Please, let me hear you say “No, this isn’t wrong” / Take me far away ,   s ave me with your kiss, bring back those memories I’ve missed. / I want to captivate everything we have ,   t hen and now and forevermore._

__

Quinn practically pulls Rachel toward her, they’re face to face, body to body. So close.

 

_Hours, minutes, seconds I’m near you ;   s till, I can’t restrain myself.  /  If this love is real I will wear it on my sleeve and burn in hell. / Wanting turns to longing , j ust how much longer, will I make you mine? / This I promise dear, I will love you till’ the end of time._

__

Rachel almost forgets to sing.

 

_Mind and heart, forgotten for another night. / Feel your skin, so fine as our souls align  / Bathe in madness as if time does not exist ;   an endless bliss , all that I want is this!_

__

Together, eyes locked, they continue.

 

_My love for you is not a dream, no matter far it may seem  / What we had felt tonight never felt so wrong , yet it felt so right . / Touch me once again , you know I will always give in . /  I don t need anything , anything but you.  /  Then and now and forevermore._

 

Rachel backs away, trying to gather breath; Quinn is just so intense. Hazel eyes drive into her, and everything melts away around them. It’s just them, only them. The blonde tries to pull her back in, but Rachel just raises the microphone back to her lips.

__

_Woken by my tears ,  I watch the rising sun  /  Feel my fear arise in my tainted heart  /  “It’s alright” you whisper yet I still could see it wasn’t true .  Have you been crying too?_

__

Quinn’s hand tightens around her mic.

 

_I wanna hold you in my arms and heal my open wounds and scars  /  Please, let me hear you say “No, this isn’t wrong” / Take me far away , save me with your kiss, bring back those memories I’ve missed.  / I want to captivate everything we have. Now and forever._

 

Quinn grabs her and pulls her close, arm around her waist.

 

_Pulling near and far connected wherever we are  /  A magnet drawn to you, this is what we do , it will all pull through  /  Touch me once again , you know I will always give in  /  I don’t need anything,  anything but you. / Then and now and forevermore._

 

Their chests heaving in unison, they let the beat play out, until eventually, they’re stood together on an empty stage, microphones at their sides, face to face. She has never wanted to kiss someone as much than this moment right now. Quinn’s jaw is clenching, eyes ablaze. Rachel wants her.

 

The crowd erupts.

 

Santana’s jaw looks like it’s dislocated. Nozomi shuts her mouth for her.

 

Something switches in Quinn, and she collects herself, back straight, she lets go of Rachel and grins playfully at the crowd, “She’s good, right?”

 

They crowd whoops and cheers and Quinn turns to face her again, “You have a fantastic voice. I’m glad I finally heard it.”

 

It’s such a shift, and Rachel finds herself floundering for a response, but Quinn is already walking off stage and retaking her seat. Ryu has been watching her glass diligently, just to make sure that no one tries anything. She thanks him quietly and he pours her another drink.

 

Rachel is just…baffled. What just happened?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

At closing time, Quinn tells Akiro to go home and get some rest. He’s practically drunk, stumbling over himself, so he doesn’t try and fight his boss on having to stay to protect her. He just grins and leaves, and Quinn seems to breathe with relief when he does.

 

“Kaito has my men tailing me all over the place. It’s exhausting.”

 

It’s the first time Quinn has spoken to her in almost three hours, and Rachel stumbles, “They’re just looking out for you.”

 

Quinn’s eyes flash, “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not a child.”

 

“I didn’t say you were, you do, however, have someone out for your head.” Rachel throws a champagne bottle in the bottle bin under the counter in a huff and Quinn’s eyebrow flicks up.

 

“Don’t get moody with me, I don’t enjoy it.”

 

Something in the tone reminds Rachel of the phone call the night before. When Quinn told her it was bad manners to eat on the couch. Her heart thumps so hard it hurts. The look in Quinn’s eyes is completely mysterious.

 

Honestly, she has no idea why she says it, but it instantly thrills her and terrifies her when she says, “Or what?”

 

Quinn inhales sharply through her nose, “Don’t test me.”

 

She’s asking to be murdered at this point.

 

“You don’t scare me.”

 

“I should.”

 

Santana and Nozomi wander over, notice the stares and promptly make themselves scarce. They shout their goodbyes, but both women don’t bother to reply, or even look their way.

 

“Come home with me.” It’s not a question, and Rachel doesn’t expect it to be.

 

“Why should I?”

 

Quinn stands from her chair, circles the bar, her hands flex at her sides, “I won’t ask again, Rachel.” She backs the girl up against the counter, but doesn’t touch her, she can’t, not here. “Or are you too scared?”

 

She is. “I’m not.”

 

Quinn raises her hand, flexes her hand, reaches out to run her thumb along Rachel’s lower lip, but stops herself. They both feel as if they’ll set aflame.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Now she knows how Alice felt when she fell down the rabbit hole.

 

 

__


	8. Chapter Eight

The walk is quiet. They walk side by side, their hands brush from time to time. Quinn doesn’t talk, neither does Rachel. They don’t look at one another. There’s a quiet contentment between them. Rachel’s heart pounds. Quinn’s is calm and collected.

 

Quinn turns a corner, latching onto Rachel’s wrist when she just keeps walking forward, completely oblivious. She pulls Rachel flush against her, pushes an errant strand of hair behind her ear; her eyes betray nothing. “Pay attention.”

 

Rachel whispers, “Yes,” and they’re on their way again.

 

Quinn’s hand slips from the pulse point at her wrist to intertwine their fingers. It’s feels natural, almost too natural; a couple walking home together after a night of drinking. People pass, bow their heads to Quinn as she passes. Do they know what’s going to happen? They say nothing, nor look at Rachel; maybe they don’t?

 

Why would they?

 

She side eyes Quinn, sees the look of complete neutrality and her breath catches. No one knows what this woman is truly capable of. The sheer thrill of it all threatens to throw her over the edge. She wants her, that much is certain. She wants Quinn to touch her, to break her apart and put her back together just as she had promised.

 

Even though she has no idea what the night will entail, she still __wants.__

 

They arrive at a small residential district, and Rachel has to scoff; Quinn was literally two streets away from her. She had walked past this area so many times on her walks, completely indifferent to it. Quinn lived so close.

 

“We’re here.”

 

Quinn’s house is not what she was expecting. She assumed, that because money spoke, Quinn’s house would be a modern build, huge, artistic. It’s decidedly, not that. It’s small, but still two floors, a run of the mill Japanese home. The top is slatted with dark sanded wood, just like Quinn’s desk. It’s her tastes in a nutshell.

 

“Expecting a mansion?” Quinn sounds oddly humoured by the look of complete awe on Rachel’s face. She pulls the awestruck girl toward the door and pulls out a key from the back pocket of her pants, hearing Rachel’s breath seem to stutter when she slides in the key in and turn.

 

The inside is the opposite to the outside.

 

It opens directly into a seating area, a low table dead centre of a room with tiled marble floor. There’s four cushions surrounding it. They look fluffy, like Japanese pancakes; Rachel wants to sit in one. There’s two desperate doors that leads to different areas of the house, and Rachel notes as Quinn shows her around, that the left leads into a modern kitchen, shockingly, it looks well used. There’s washed up plates on a drying rack just to the left of the sink, clothes folded in a neat stack on top of a dryer that sits in the corner.

 

The right leads to living area, there’s a couch almost triple the size of the one in her dingy apartment, a disgustingly large TV planted on the wall above a real wood fire. She can imagine herself in this room, she finds; curled up on the couch, Quinn beside her, watching TV together. It’s domestic, and blissful, and as she looks up at Quinn, not exactly the mood Quinn is in right now.

 

At the end of the main hall, they stop at the foot of the stairs and Quinn takes both her hands in hers. Her voice is low, controlled, deep, “I want you to know that you can leave at any time if you don’t want to do this.”

 

Rachel audibly swallow, “Would you really let me?”

 

Quinn’s hands tighten around hers, “I wouldn’t like it, but I would.” Then she takes a deep breath, “I’ve wanted this for a while, Rachel, and I’m worried that I’ll get ahead of myself.” She pauses, “All you need to tell me is no, and I’ll stop.”

 

She has no idea what that means. Sex is sex. She’s done it before, so has Quinn, evidently. Bravely, she releases her hands from Quinn’s grip and runs them up her arms, resting them gently on the blonde’s shoulders.

 

“I want this too, and you would never scare me away, Quinn.” She pulls her down, rests Quinn’s forehead against hers. She aches to kiss, but holds back, “I’m yours.” There’s a sharp intake of breath and she has no idea if it’s from her or Quinn, “I think I have been since I first saw you.”

 

The one thing she isn’t expecting is a growl to escape Quinn’s lips, and then she finds herself being hoisted up, Quinn’s arms around her waist, her arms around Quinn’s neck. They’re going up the stairs, and Rachel prays silently that she makes it until morning. Quinn obviously has a lot she needs to express.

 

Before they even get to Quinn’s room, the blonde is pushing her up against a wall, and she gasps, before her mouth is sealed by Quinn’s. It’s dangerously erotic, rough, almost pained, and Rachel falls deeper down the rabbit hole. Quinn’s lips are soft, but practised, and draws everything out of Rachel that she has to offer.

 

Tongues clash, a battle of wills, moans escape from heated breaths, she finds herself grinding against Quinn’s stomach, trying to ease the thrilling ache that begins to build.

 

But it’s over, and Quinn pulls back to look at her, her eyes dark and dangerous. They stay there for several moments, just looking at one another, before Quinn finally pulls her away from the wall, walking further down the hall, and taking her into her bedroom.

 

They’re kissing again before she can even get a good look at the room, and moans deeply as Quinn’s nails dip into the skin at the bottom of her back. It’s a delicious pain, one she didn’t think she’d like. At her moan of pain and pleasure, Quinn seems to lose it.

 

Rachel is dropped to her feet, wobbling slightly as she collects herself. Quinn takes several steps back, regards her, then slides the door shut. The atmosphere only seems to thicken without the door open, and Rachel heaves for breath, her fingertips coming to touch her lips; she still feels the burn.

 

“Get undressed.”

 

Another order, Rachel falters. Already?

 

“Don’t make me ask again.”

 

She doesn’t, and quickly kicks her heels off, placing them neatly at the foot of Quinn’s king size bed. She struggles with the zip at the back of her neck for a while before she hears Quinn shift behind her, moving closer. Her fingers go numb.

 

Quinn is behind her, brushing her fingers aside, and she feels the zip slowly descend her back until it hits the swell of her ass. She wants to look over her shoulder, to see the look in Quinn’s eyes, to know what she may be thinking, but she’s stuck in place.

 

She feels Quinn’s fingers drift down the exposed area of skin, from the bottom of her neck to the top of her ass, and gasps at the mixture of feelings it gives her. She’s __never__ felt like this. Her back tenses as she feels Quinn’s hot breath against the back of her neck, lips drifting down and across; the pressure is barely there.

 

“Quinn…” She moans softly, arm going behind her back to try and touch. She ends up latching onto the brown leather belt around Quinn’s waist and tugs as much as she is able. Quinn is flush against her, hand trapped, and she feels __something.__  She gasps and shudders when she hears Quinn chuckle into her neck.

 

Quinn takes her time, lips drifting down her back as she simultaneously pulls the dress off from Rachel’s shoulders. She falls in time with the dress, slow and controlled, until she’s on her knees behind Rachel, the dress pooled at her feet.

 

It feels raw, how naked she feels, only a small slither of underwear hiding herself from Quinn’s heated gaze. She almost feels it, the way that Quinn looks at her, and tries to steady herself, clasping both her hands together in front of her.

 

Her eyes shut when she feels Quinn’s lips brush just below the cut of her panties, and she tries to stifle the moan that wants to rip free from the back of her throat. They’re not even looking at one another, but it’s still so completely intimate. It’s baffling.

 

She loves it.

 

Quinn’s hands are on her waist, holding her gently in place. She’s thankful, as she feels as if she’s one second away from falling flat on her face. She almost does, when Quinn playfully bites her ass, but manages to stay steady. It feels completely different, and lines blur between pleasure and pain. She moans.

 

Hands tighten around her waist, and she feels Quinn pulls back, “I knew it.” Her voice is so hoarse, and Rachel almost feels like crying at how hot it makes her. “I knew it.” Quinn repeats and Rachel so desperately wants to ask what she was right about, but her panties are slowly being slipped down her hips and her breath catches.

 

“Quinn,” She whispers, chin to chest, watching the panties fall away, “Please.” She has no idea what she’s pleading for, but it seems to impress Quinn greatly, who stands, and pulls her back, body flush against Quinn’s fully clothed body.

 

She registers the kisses placed against her shoulders, the bites to her neck, and of their own accord, her ass grinds back, feeling the bulge that seems to be in Quinn’s pants, against her; the light moans it induces lights her bloody aflame. Her hand raises up, threads through golden tendrils, tugs.

 

“I hope you’re ready,” Shockingly, Quinn’s voice is steady, even if her hips have begun to rock forward in time with Rachel’s grinding. She hears Rachel’s light moan and sinks her teeth into her neck, groaning at the loud yelp which tapers off into a long guttural moan. “I’m going to completely fucking ruin you, Rachel.”

 

She’s spun around sharply and she feels the rough push to her chest. She startles back, legs hit the bed, and she lands on it. She pushes her knees together, feels the slick heat that’s build there as she watches with wide eyes.

 

She swallows, seeing the shadow that seems to have consumed Quinn’s beautiful hazel eyes; she looks like perfection.

 

It looks like Quinn has no intention of removing her clothes, unfortunately; she wants to see the tattoos again, she wants to add to them; add the scars of her own making, nails dipping into the flesh and tearing. It scares her. Quinn kicks off her heels; they end up halfway across the room, but she doesn’t falter from pinning Rachel with her gaze.

 

Much to her dismay, Quinn keeps her pants on, but works on the belt, unbuckling it and pulling it free with one smooth slide. She wraps both ends around her clenched fists as she moves forward. It’s tantalizing; how she moves, hips swaying, veins throbbing in her pale hands.

 

Rachel waits, completely unaware what she is waiting __for.__

__

Quinn straddles her hips, so close, and Rachel leans up to touch, but Quinn is pushing her flush against the bed, taking the belt and wrapping around her wrists. It’s tight, and bites into skin, and all Rachel can do is let it happen. She had seen this on her late night google searches, and it had interested her. They had used rope; she wonders if Quinn has any.

 

Her bound hands are held above her head, and Quinn stares down at her. Her breasts heave from beneath the confines of her shirt. Rachel whines, hands pulling at the belt. She so desperately want to touch.

 

“Calm down,” Quinn rests her hand between Rachel’s breasts, feels the beats beneath it, and Rachel allows herself to relax. With a smirk, Quinn leans down, lips drifting between free breasts, kissing the skin, licking sweat that has gathered, she stares up, Rachel has her head pushed back.

 

She runs her tongue lower, dips into the bellybutton, smells the want as she gets closer. Quinn plants her hands down, one at either side of Rachel and grips the bedsheets in her fists, controlling the swelling urges that are finally at the tipping point.

 

Her tongue dips into the crease between Rachel’s leg and her most intimate area. She feels Rachel’s hips jerk, smirks against the skin, nips it, then soothes the ache with her tongue. There’s no moaning, just the thumping of heartbeats and stuttered breaths.

 

Quinn drags her tongue across, repeats the process with the other leg. Rachel rocks her hips up, aching for more, and Quinn feels the brush of wetness against her chin.

 

She snaps.

 

She’s off the bed, pulling Rachel forward, ass hanging off the bed, Quinn’s fingers dig into her thighs, legs over her shoulders.

 

Her mouth is there.

 

She attacks the bounty she had waited so agonizingly for and a scream rips from Rachel’s throat. Her tongue slips between, circles her throbbing clit, tastes her, pleases her, makes her unravel. Lips entrap her clit, she sucks and licks, arms tense as she tries to keep her lover steady.

 

Rachel’s hips gyrate, grinding against Quinn’s chin, lips and nose. It’s too much; from barely there touches to __everything.__ She feels as if she’s crumbling from the inside out, and the swell that rises from the bottom of her belly threatens to rip her apart.

 

Just as Quinn promised.

 

“Quinn, fuck, please!” She looks down, wishes she didn’t, and moans when she locks eyes with Quinn. Hazel eyes are carnal and deep and Rachel has to look away. She can’t look at her and keep her sanity, but when she feels the nip of teeth against her clit, she almost shoots off the bed. “Quinn…” It’s a heady whisper, full of wanton desire. She wants __more.__

__

The blonde happily obliges, nipping between licks, one hand coming free from its vice grip on a tanned thigh, the tips of two fingers feeling the wetness that gathers. Rachel feels the groan against her and whimpers, feeling the vibrations shoot through her entire body.

 

Fingers are pushed inside her, deep and without preamble. Rachel arches off the bed, feels Quinn’s fingers push deeper, taking her for all she’s worth. They’re kept still and stable inside her, as far as they can go, and Rachel feels tears prick her eyes.

 

“Please,” Her vocabulary has essentially escaped her; all she can do is beg. She begins to thrust her hips down, trying to make the fingers move, but Quinn continues her attack on her clit, steadfastly not moving her fingers. She’s unravelled, completely devastated, “Fuck me, daddy.”

 

Quinn’s tongue stops in place, and Rachel wants to sink into the bed. Where the fuck did that come from? She whimpers, to herself, in mortification.

 

“Quinn, I didn’t mean to say that, I-,”

 

“Say it again.”

 

She stops, flounders, and manages to look down at Quinn. She’s pulled away slightly from between her legs, staring up at her. There’s a smirk, and finally the fingers inside her hook and thrust. Rachel almost goes cross-eyed, pushing her head back, chest rising off the bed, “Oh God…”

 

“Say it again, Rachel.”

 

“F-Fuck,” She stutters, “Please.”

 

Quinn growls, “Fucking say it, Rachel.” The thrusts are harder, faster, so deep and Rachel knows she’s losing her body and soul to Quinn Fabray. It’s a scream as she finally says it again.

 

“Fuck me, daddy!”

 

Tongue and teeth attack Rachel’s throbbing clit, a third finger is added, and Rachel digs her nails into Quinn’s belt, holding on for the ride. The mixture of pleasure and pain is something she never realized could gel so well; with every hard bite, there’s a soft kiss, with ever harsh thrust, there’s a gentle stroke.

 

“Oh fuck yes,” Rachel whimpers, her pussy clenching around Quinn’s fingers. She’s so close already, dangerously close, and Quinn doesn’t seem to need to break for air. Her attack is intense, erotic and everything Rachel didn’t know she needed. “I’m gonna…” She heaves for breath, digs her nails further into the leather of the belt, “I’m gonna come.”

 

Quinn pushes up on her knees, pulling Rachel’s hips up with her. She’s half lifted from the bed and Quinn continues to thrust and suck and she can’t help but scream as she locks eyes with Quinn. The orgasm is intense, it vibrates throughout her entire body, and just as Quinn promised, it begins to tear her apart.

 

The blonde moans into her, feeling the tell tale pulsing around her fingers, and slowly swirls her tongue around Rachel’s clit, easing her back down from the heights of her orgasm. Rachel is breathless, chest heaving as she aches for air, and she’s finally settled back onto the bed.

 

She whimpers as Quinn pulls her fingers free, “Flip over, on your knees, ass up.” Rachel begins to flip herself over, completely delirious, and hears the tell tale zip of Quinn’s pants.

 

Quinn pushes them down, down to mid-thigh and grips the base of the strap-on she’s wearing. She watches as Rachel moves onto her knees, chest crushed to the bed, ass high up in the air, the glistening of her pussy.

 

She steps forward, pushing the tip of her cock against Rachel, tries to suppress a moan when Rachel pushes her ass back, trying to feel more. “Please, Quinn…” It’s like music to her ears, “I need to feel you…”

 

Quinn’s hands grab her waist, hold her steady, cock poised and ready, right at the entrance. “Beg me for it.”

 

Rachel sounds as if she’s almost at tears, the side of her face pushed into the bed, cheeks flush, a line of glistening sweat at her brow. Quinn realizes, as she listens to the brunette’s cries and begs, that she has never quite seen anyone so __beautiful__.

 

“I can’t do it, I’m so wet, I need you inside me, Quinn, please, fuck me, make me come around your cock, please daddy, fuck me hard, give it to me.”

 

Quinn chokes out a breath, and digs her nails hard into Rachel’s hips, revelling at the hiss of pain that makes it way through her lovers teeth. “More, Quinn. Hurt me.”

 

This, she had not been expecting. She expected Rachel to be open to her select __tastes__  but she never expected her to ask for more their first time together. She takes a moment to calm herself, to stop her hand from doing what it really wants to do, and slides the entirety of her cock inside Rachel’s pussy.

 

The deep guttural moan is immediate, soul destroying, and Quinn knows that she’s as close to heaven as she’s ever going to get; nestled inside this American woman that drives her to insanity. She knows she should let Rachel adjust, but she can’t quite make herself do so, she thrusts, pushes as deep as she can go, revels in the light scream that Rachel muffles into the bed.

 

Rachel’s hips begin to push back, grinding her ass against the hilt, and Quinn’s head pushes back, fighting back a groan. The small insert grinding against her G-spot with each thrust of Rachel’s hips. She begins to thrust, sharp and deep, trying with all her might to control herself.

 

The moans and mews begin to crack at her control, chipping it away little by little. Her cock is gleaming with Rachel’s wetness, sliding so deliciously easy. She’s on the edge of something she’s never quite felt before; the precipice of losing all sense of control, the control she had spent years perfecting.

 

All because of Rachel fucking Berry.

 

“Oh fuck, Quinn, so good…”

 

She raises her hand, all sense of control broken, slams it down, slaps the fleshy plane of Rachel’s ass. The moaning stops, Rachel looks over her shoulder, Quinn holds her breath. She’s overstepped. She went too far. She went too fast.

 

“Again.”

 

Quinn exhales, long and sharp, continues her thrusts, quickening them. Rachel pants as she feels the next sharp slap across her ass. She wants to beg for more, but all she can find herself doing is sealing her teeth around the duvet, bracing herself as she moans.

 

The blonde groans as she feels her own climax grow, watching Rachel’s ass grow redder with each and every slap. She wants to imprint herself on Rachel’s body, wants a reminder that she was here, tearing her apart.

 

She picks up the pace, driving herself in and out, feeling the tell tale clench of Rachel’s pussy around her. The sharp crack of hand against ass fills the room, and Quinn knows she’s probably slapping a little too hard, but she can’t bring herself to care nor stop.

 

“I’m co-,” Rachel’s panting, mouth open, the duvet a wet mess, “I’m com-,”

 

Quinn has torn apart this girl into a shuddering mess; a shadow of the prim and proper woman she had first met. She feels powerful, and the thought alone makes her own orgasm threaten to tear her apart.

 

With a growl, she leans forward, chest to back, on her tiptoes to keep her thrusts smooth. She bites onto the back of Rachel’s shoulder, hard, and allows Rachel’s moans and screams to wash over her. “Come for me, Rachel.”

 

And she does, like the obedient girl she is; she comes hard, shattering around Quinn’s cock as it stills inside her, and comes again when she hears Quinn cry out against her skin, her own orgasm washing over her.

 

The lay in content silence, only the sound of their breaths filling the room. Rachel’s eyes are shut, and it’s only when Quinn raises her forehead from Rachel’s back, she sees the lone tear that slides down her cheek.

 

__Oh god, no._ _

__

She lifts up, slowly slides out her Rachel, pulls her pants up and zips up. She’s around the bed, her hands finding the buckle of the belt that still sits tight around Rachel’s wrists. She removes them, drops them to the floor with a loud thud and brushes the hair back from Rachel’s face.

 

“Rachel?” She doesn’t like how choked she sounds.

 

Rachel’s eyes slowly open, and Quinn’s breath catches.

 

“Rachel?”

 

A slow smile, then a hiss as Rachel moves her wrists, trying to work out the ache. “I’m okay.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

The smile is back, and a small nod, “Mhm…” Then a nod, and she’s moving, sitting up on her knees, and she hisses again when she feels the pain in her backside, “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

 

If Quinn wasn’t so mortified, she would have laughed, but she tries to broach the subject regardless, “Would you be worried if I said that I __was__ holding back?”

 

Rachel is silent for a moment, bottom lip between her teeth, eyes searching Quinn as she crouches in front of her. Quinn wishes she knew what she was thinking; that she could crawl inside that head and figure out all the secrets within.

 

“I’m not opposed.” It sounds almost diplomatic and Quinn deflates; she doesn’t like it. Quinn stands in one solid movement, clenches her fists at her sides, “Quinn?”

 

“I’m going to go wash up.” She moves away, before Rachel can reach out and disappears behind the en-suite door, shutting it with a quiet click behind her.

 

Safely behind the door, she collapses back against it. It takes her a moment to calm her racing heart, to catch her breath. She’s messed it all up. She’s scared Rachel off.

 

She rips off her jacket, throws it clean across the bathroom and shudders out a breath when it lands with a dull thud against the back wall. She rips off her shirt, pulls off her pants, pulls the strap on free from her, and dumps them all on the counter.

 

Quinn moves toward the sink, looks at herself in the mirror, truly stares at herself. Her cheeks are red and flush, hair a mess. It really was the best sexual experience she’s probably ever had, and she can’t quite figure out why.

 

She pulls her sport bra from her, chucking it onto the pile beside her. She washes her face, letting the cold water soak into her flush skin, brushes her teeth and drags her fingers through her hair to tame it. She grabs a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from a shelf behind her and slips them on.

 

Then, she just stands there.

 

Rachel will be gone when she opens that door again, just like all the others. Fuck and leave, that was her status quo. She had never been one that enjoyed cuddling after the fact, nor sharing a bed with the woman she spent the night with.

 

But the distinct possibility that Rachel is gone from her bed, sits in her stomach and makes her feel sick.

 

She __hurt__ her.

 

“You’re still here,” She whispers as she opens the bathroom door, eyes locked with Rachel’s form under the covers, cuddled up on her side, drifting between sleep and conciousness.

 

She hears a light chuckle and her heart skips a beat, “It’s five am, Quinn. Where else would I be?” Then a pause and Quinn falters, “Unless you want me to go?”

 

__God, no. Stay._ _

__

“It doesn’t bother me.” She cringes at how indifferent she sounds and moves to the bed, climbing in. She’s flat on her back, tense; it had been years since she had last shared a bed with someone. It’s too warm, it’s too __intimate.__

__

Rachel rolls over and drops her chin to Quinn’s chest, “Answer me something.”

 

Quinn looks down at Rachel’s prying brown eyes, swallows audibly, suddenly feeling very sick, “Hm?”

 

“Why…” A soft sigh, Quinn feels it through her shirt. “You never took your clothes off.”

 

“I-,” She stops herself, bites her tongue, then sighs, “I don’t do that.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s…” She breaks eye contact, looks away and shuts her eyes, “Just something I don’t do, Rachel.”

 

Evidently, Rachel isn’t one to drop subjects so easily. She shifts closer, and Quinn feels stifled and trapped, she tries to move away, but Rachel clings to her left arm, “Quinn, please don’t hide from me now.” She feels the press of a kiss to her neck and tries to swallow the moan, “I want to know more about you, not less.”

 

 _ _No, you can’t.__  

 

Quinn pulls her arm free, wraps it around Rachel and pulls her close. It’s too much, she’s going to be sick, but Rachel seems to settles against her, and Quinn doesn’t stop panicking until she hears the soft and evened out breathing against her chest.

 

__You can’t, Rachel. I’m sorry._ _

__

__

* * *

 

 

 

When Rachel wakes hours later, the sun is bright. She rubs at her eyes, and settles back down into the bed.

 

She remembers where she is.

 

She feels Quinn beneath her cheek, the soft rise and fall of her chest, and tightens her grip around her, “Quinn?”

 

There’s a soft sigh, and when Rachel looks up, she realizes that Quinn is wide awake, looking out the window. There’s a cherry blossom tree outside, in full bloom. The light wind from outside sends them swirling through the sky; it looks like a swirling abstract painting, and Rachel feels the breath catch in her throat.

 

Not because of the petals that flutter so serenely outside, but at how beautiful her lover looks in the morning light; the mask of authority has completely slipped away, quiet and enchanting. Rachel has never seen anything like it.

 

“They’re early this year too,” She sounds wistful, almost disappointed, as her eyes track the falling pink petals.

 

“The cherry blossoms?” Rachel yawns quietly.

 

“Mhm,” Quinn sighs softly, “They bloom early, and they never seem to last the two weeks they’re suppose to be around.”

 

“You like watching them?”

 

“When I have time,” Quinn turns her head, looks down at the brunette, “Rachel, about last-,”

 

Rachel surges up, pressing a kiss to Quinn’s lips, “Please don’t.” She kisses her again, deeper this time, morning breath be damned and she almost __feels__ Quinn’s defences begin to crumble, “Don’t just disregard what we did, because it’s there, it’s done, and I want to do it all over again.”

 

Quinn pulls back gently, brushes her fingers through tangled brown locks, “Yeah?” She sounds so small, and Rachel can’t help but feel herself fall.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’m not good for you.”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“Rachel,”

 

“I don’t care, Quinn. I’ve made up my mind.”

 

A soft sigh, “Rachel, you’ll be the death of me.” She turns her head to look at the alarm clock, “I need to go to the office.”

 

Rachel tries not to mourn the loss of warmth that Quinn offered her as the blonde leaves the bed, “I’ll walk you home,” She seems to stop herself in place, hand on the wardrobe door, “I mean,” Another pause, and Rachel wishes she knew what was racing through her head, “If you want me to.”

 

Somehow, she realizes that Quinn has probably never had such normalcy in her life, such routine that involved another person that wasn’t a colleague. She’s floundering, trying to find the right answer, a small child, trying to get it right.

 

“I’d love that,” Rachel replies softly, climbing from the bed. She feels the ache of her body as she stretches, and allows Quinn to watch her as she bends down to grab her discarded dress. It’s a crumpled mess, but all she has, and quickly slips it on. She feels the material rub against her sore ass and bites her tongue when, shockingly, a moan threatens to make itself known and not a hiss.

 

She feels Quinn behind her and gasps when hands drift down her back to cup her ass, “You want more next time?” That deep voice is back, and she knows she’s lost the quiet and unsure Quinn, “You’re sure?”

 

Rachel looks over her shoulder, regards the blonde, “I want everything you can offer me, Quinn.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When they’re finally dressed, and Rachel has __tried__  to make her hair look the slightest bit presentable, they’re both slipping out of the bedroom door together. “For what it’s worth,” Rachel remarks as they walk down the hall, “You’re excellent in bed.”

 

She moans when she’s slammed against the wall, Quinn pinning her to it, chest to chest, “Don’t do this to me,” She pleads roughly, lips brushing against Rachel’s, “Not when I have to work.”

 

“Take the day off.”

 

Quinn groans, “I can’t.”

 

“Take it off and come home with me. Let me touch __you.”__

__

Quinn pulls back, the mask slammed back on, her eyes indifferent, “Come on, we need to go.” Rachel tries not to let her heart ache as Quinn walks away, but can’t help but feel the familiar tug of tears behind her eyes as she follows Quinn.

 

They stop at the top of the stairs, and Quinn turns to face her, “One day, Rachel. I’m not __ready__ right now, but…” That soft look in her eyes is back, the same as when she watched the cherry blossoms fall and Rachel takes a hand in hers with a smile.

 

“I don’t really understand what’s going around in that head of yours, but I hope, one day, you’ll let me in just a little bit.”

 

Quinn smiles, almost shyly, “One day.”

 

She turns, hand still in Rachel’s and they head down the stairs. Rachel feels the swell in her chest; Quinn may be an enigma, but she knows that if she just takes the time to break through those high defences, she’ll be able to chisel a hole wide enough for her to fit through. There, she’ll find what Quinn is hiding; what she’s like when she’s not __on__ , when she’s carefree.

 

She wants to know everything; her childhood, what she was like, her school life, why she came to Japan in the first place, how she managed to join the Yakuza, how she raised so high within five years. Everything.

 

Rachel almost bumps into Quinn’s back at the bottom of the stairs, and with a light chuckle, she moves around her lover to admonish her, “What are you-,”

 

She stops and stares.

 

Kaito is stood at the front door, a murderous look on his face, and a small girl in his arms. She hears Quinn inhale sharply.

 

“Momma!”

 

__What?_ _

__

The small girl, who couldn’t be any more than four years old, begins to struggle in Kaito’s arms until he allows her down. She’s light skinned, has dark brown almost black hair, dark eyes, and Rachel is just confused. But when Quinn drops to her knee and catches the running girl in her arms, she just knows.

 

The gleaming look in dark eyes, the same small smile.

 

She’s going to throw up.

 

“Momma! You have a friend!”

 

She still knows __nothing.__

__

“Rachel!” She hears Quinn call out to her through the haze, but she ignores it. Tears brimming in her eyes, she passes Kaito, unable to look at him. She slips past him, and feels the tears slip down her cheeks as she walks down the pathway to the main road. “Rachel, wait!”

 

Rachel turns, sees the fire in Quinn’s eyes, and involuntarily panics. “Please stop…” The blonde doesn’t adhere to her request and Rachel frowns, backing up, “No!”

 

Quinn stops in place, eyes wide, breathing heavy.

 

She can’t fight the sob that escapes her throat and slaps her hand over her mouth, turning and running away. Quinn doesn’t come after her, she doesn’t want her to, not now.

 

Quinn was right after all -- she would destroy her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter Nine

She wished for oblivion.

 

Anything to stop this god forsaken pain that nestled itself deep in her chest. She can’t stop crying, the tears coming thick and fast, eyes bloodshot and pained. She runs through the streets, trying to find a sanctuary, somewhere, anywhere, that she can go and be alone.

 

People watch her as she speeds through the streets, hair messy, dress ruined, heart shattered.

 

She ends up in a small public park, much like the one that she and Santana had sat in the night that everything went to shit. She sits on the bench, presses her face into her hands and just sobs. It’s a wail, a terrifying and painful wail, that rips through her body and tugs at her heart.

 

How can she know so little, after everything that had happened?

 

How could Quinn had not mentioned something so unbelievably important, after promising that she would work on giving more? She had pinned her with that look, that light and comforting look, and said she would work on giving her more.

 

Something was different between them, Rachel knew that. Quinn must have known it too.

 

She sits up, heaving for hair, hand resting on her chest. It’s been a while since she had one of these. Oh god, she can’t breathe.

 

_“Sweetie, you’re having a panic attack, drop your head between your legs and try to control your breathing.”_

_“Da-daddy…”_

_“Rach, breathe nice and deep. Control your breathing, nice deep breaths, there we go…”_

__

If only her fathers were here. She drops her head between her knees, tries to remember their soothing voices as she breathes through the panic. It fucking __hurts.__

 

She focuses on the sounds around her, the wind as it passes through the trees, the sound of a bell on a bicycle as it passes on the street. So focuses on it all, and tries to push the panic away, and the visions of Quinn’s eyes as she promised she’d give more.

 

Rachel swallows, breathing calming, and sits there for just a moment, letting the panic wash away. Her hands shake behind her head, she feels them behind her neck, nails digging into flesh and she jerks them away.

 

It’s not right.

 

The pain that Quinn had inflicted only the night before was nothing compared to how she felt now. She longs for the nails in her skin, the slaps to her flesh, the bites to her body; but there’s nothing there.

 

And as she watches a lone cherry blossom drift along the floor, she’s scared that she’ll never feel that again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s several hours later that she manages to gather the strength to stand from the bench and make her way home. It’s mid afternoon by the time she makes it to the door of her apartment, and she makes sure she looks somewhat acceptable before unlocking the door and walking in.

 

Santana isn’t in the living room, but she can hear the spray of the shower. She must have just gotten back herself after being with Nozomi.

 

Rachel grits her teeth, tries to fight off the wave of jealousy that threatens to consume her. Santana is happy, why can’t she be too? Why did she have to fall for the one girl with relationship issues and a secret child?

 

She moves over to the couch, practically collapses onto it, sighs deeply. What is she going to tell Santana? She knows she went home with Quinn last night. She tries to form some sort of lie, but Santana is sweeping into the room, towel wrapped around her body, barely held up.

 

“Wow, shit, didn’t know you were back,” She grins, but then it slips when she finally properly looks at Rachel, “Uh, okay, so have you been crying? Either the sex was really fucking good or really fucking bad.”

 

Rachel stares at her, and the swell begins to rise again, and she needs to stop it, but the look in Santana’s eyes isn’t the look in Quinn’s, and she just sobs.

 

Santana moves forward, sits besides her, and wraps her arm around trembling shoulders. “It’s okay, Rach, it’s okay.” She holds the sobbing girl, petting limp hair, and feels rage fill her body and soul, “Whatever happened, it’s okay, we can sort it.”

 

Her jaw clenches as she drops a kiss to the top of Rachel’s head, “I’ll sort it. I swear.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Santana waits until Rachel is ready to speak, texting Nozomi that she can’t make it to their late lunch date, that something popped up. She’s thankful her girlfriend doesn’t ask why, or if that something is wrong, because she’s pretty certain that she’d try and stop her from killing Quinn Fabray.

 

It’s almost an hour until Rachel is calmed enough to speak, almost half asleep as she rests against Santana’s chest. It’s calm here, hearing the beat of her friend’s heart, just as she had this morning in Quinn’s bed.

 

“It was good.”

 

Santana chuckles softly, a little sarcastically, “So the sex was good, but then something happened, right?”

 

Rachel is silent again, for the longest time, her voice tired and barely intelligible, “She promised me…”

 

The breathing evens out, and she knows Rachel’s asleep. With a sigh, Santana pulls her down onto the couch, grabs the blanket from the back of it and throws it over her friend. She stands there for the longest time, just watching her sleep.

 

“Whatever happened, Rach, I’ll fix it.”

 

She’s dressed and out the door in five minutes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Haruto is completely useless, she finds, when she asks where Quinn is. She smooths her face into a cool disinterest, because she knows that if she shows the rage that lays underneath, they won’t allow her within fifty feet of Quinn.

 

“She was here for a little bit. I think she went home.”

 

According to him, he has no idea where she lives.

 

Fucking useless.

 

She manages to track Kaito down. He’s coming out of a nearby convenience store, a shopping bag in his hand. He takes one look at her and ignores her, passing her by without even a second glance.

 

“Hey!” She chases after him, coming to a stop in front of him. “Where’s Quinn? I need to talk to her.”

 

He frowns, hand tightening around the shopping bag, “You don’t need to do anything. You’re not involved in this.”

 

Santana scoffs, “I’m involved when my friend comes home completely torn up and unable to stop crying.” She gets right up in his face, “You might be Yakuza, buddy, but I’ll happily slap the shit out of you to find out where blondie is.”

 

He sniffs, disinterested, “I knew you were both trouble the second I laid eyes on you.” He tilts his head to the side, as if he’s contemplating something, “What would have happened if I hadn’t have helped you that night?”

 

She steps back, frowning.

 

“Quinn would be fine. She’d be happy. She wouldn’t have to spend time worrying about your friend, and trying to change herself into something she’s not.”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about, jolly green giant? You jealous of Rachel?”

 

He bristles at his, “I am neither bothered nor jealous of Rachel Berry. My job is to take care of my boss, and I can’t do that when I can’t tell what she’s thinking. That woman is a menace to this family, and the sooner you go back to America, the better.” He pushes past her, “Leave us be.”

 

“Asshole…”

 

She watches him walk away, the rage ever present, and realizes, it’s time to get sneaky.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She follows Kaito around town. He seems to make random drops at random businesses, and she can’t quite make any sense of it. It’s like he knows he’s being tailed, or he’s just really bad at keeping to a schedule.

 

Eventually, he makes his way toward a small residential district, and Santana shoves herself in a crowd of people outside a nearby book store to watch which house he goes to. She realizes she’s picked up a book about pickling cabbage when the man who owns the store asks her if she’s interested in buying it.

 

She apologizes and drops the book, running off to follow Kaito. He’s disappeared into a nearby house, just off the main road, and Santana dashes low up the walkway to circle around the back of the house.

 

The windows are high up, and she has to tiptoe to glance into them. She sees nothing. “Fuck,” She hisses, “Wrong house?” She circles around to the other side, sees the open window that seems to lead into a kitchen and freezes when Kaito walks past the window, dumping a bowl into the sink.

 

“Quinn, will you be reasonable?”

 

Santana practically shoves herself against the wall, listening.

 

“I am being reasonable. Call the meeting with Yamamoto. I’ll sort all of this out and both girls can be on their way back home.”

 

“You know he wants you dead,” Kaito hisses, but keeps his voice quiet, “You’re walking to your death.”

 

“Will you stop?” There’s the clatter of cutlery, “Don’t do this here.”

 

Santana shuffles until she’s directly under the window; it takes everything she has to not look up through the window. She wants to see the look on that fucking woman’s face before she beats the shit out of her.

 

“Where else am I going to do it? You avoid me at the office, always have me out on assignment and then after, I’m always busy with-,”

 

“Daddy, momma doesn’t wanna fight.”

 

Santana’s nails dig into the wood beneath her palm and freezes.

 

“I know, Fukurō, I’m sorry.” The words sparks something in Santana, she learnt it only a few weeks ago while trying to expand her knowledge of the language. Owl.

 

“Momma, where did your friend go?”

 

“She…” Santana hears the break in Quinn’s voice and frowns; what the fuck? “She had to go home. She has a busy day, you see.”

 

“Oh…” A pause, “But why was she crying?”

 

“You’re much too interested for your own good, Fukurō.” Kaito butts in, he’s shifting away from the window. There’s the scratch of a chair against the floor. “Momma’s friend isn’t from Japan, she’s just upset, because she wants to go back home.”

 

“Oh! She’s from America, just like momma, right?”

 

Kaito hums softly, “You’re half American too, Fukurō, so you’re from America too.”

 

A soft giggle and Santana feels like slapping herself for finding a kid of all things cute, “Yeah! Momma, can we go to America for a holiday? We can take your friend!”

 

She wishes she could see the look on Quinn’s face, “Maybe one day, baby.” Then a sigh, “But, you have afternoon lessons. You finished your food?”

 

“Yep!”

 

“Even your mushrooms?”

 

“Mushrooms are gross.”

 

“Beth.” Quinn’s voice is stern, “Eat them or you’ll be late for lessons.”

 

A grumble, the scrape of cutlery, and then a long groan. “I did it, momma.”

 

There’s the scratch of a chair, “I’ll take her.” It’s Kaito, “Are you going to the office at all today?”

 

“Obviously so, if you’re not willing to call a meeting for me. I’ll do it myself.”

 

“Quinn.”

 

“Kaito, take our daughter to her classes. We’ll speak later.”

 

“Bye, momma! Dai suki da yo!”

 

A light chuckle, “I love you too, baby.” There’s a shuffle of feet, “Oh, and Beth?” A pause, “Speak Japanese in your classes, okay? Don’t speak English.”

 

There’s a groan, “But momma, it’s funny.”

 

“No.”

 

“...Fine.” And the footsteps are fading away. Santana hears the front door and shuffles toward the corner of the house. Kaito is holding a bright pink Hello Kitty backpack in one hand, the other, holding a small girls hand. “Daddy, don’t tell momma, but I’m still gonna speak English. My friends get so confused!”

 

Santana frowns as Kaito eyes seem to light up as he regards his __daughter__  and chuckles, “Of course, Fukurō. I won’t tell momma.”

 

They’re gone.

 

Santana is completely at a loss.

 

Quinn Fabray has a daughter, with Kaito of all people, and from what she overheard, it’s evident that Rachel found out.

 

“Well shit, blondie.” She mutters, pulling around the corner and jumping up the stairs to the front door. She knocks quietly, rests her hands at her sides and prepares herself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first thing that happens when Quinn finally opens the door is sigh, then say, “Go home, Santana.”

 

She goes the slam the door, but Santana’s hand shoots out and stops the slam before it can happen, “We gotta talk.”

 

Quinn frowns, “No. Go home.” She keeps pushing, and Santana realizes then how strong Quinn actually is. She uses both hands, trying to stop the door from shutting, and groans when Quinn easily overpowers her.

 

“I wanted to do this the nice way,” Santana hisses, backs up and slams her foot against the door. Quinn, not expecting such a move, jostles back and clenches her fists when Santana storms through, “Guess I gotta beat it into you, blondie.”

 

Santana is the one to throw the first punch, strong and true, directly in the direction of Quinn’s face, and Quinn raises her arms to block it. Santana steps back from the instant defence and scrambles to the side when she catches a flash of blonde running toward her.

 

She spins on her heels, jumps on Quinn’s back, wraps both arms around the blonde’s neck and squeezes, “Just let me talk to you, asshole!”

 

Between gritted teeth, “Fuck off.” Quinn plants her feet and falls back, crashing to the floor with Santana still attached to her.

 

“You fucking cunt,” She groans, wheezing when Quinn gets up and settles a heeled foot on her chest, “You hurt her.”

 

The ghost of something passes Quinn’s eyes that Santana honestly has no idea how to comprehend, “It’s none of your business.”

 

Santana smirks, “Oh it is.” She grabs Quinn’s ankle, twists hard and Quinn collapses to the ground. Santana is on her in an instant, straddling her hips, pinning her arms down at the wrists, “You hurt my friend, I hurt you, blondie. It’s pretty much how this goes.”

 

“You have no idea what happened.” Quinn spits, “Stop getting involved.”

 

“Cute kid, Quinn.”

 

Hazel eyes widen.

 

“Didn’t know Kaito had it in him to put a baby in you. Tell me, is he as good in bed as Rachel is?”

 

Eyes blazing, Quinn drives her knee up, square between Santana’s legs. With a wheeze, Santana lets go of the blonde’s arms, eyes watering, “Fuck you.” A fist connects with her nose and Santana is knocked back, a heap beside her.

 

Quinn is up, stumbling back, “You have no right.” She rolls her bad shoulder, “Get the hell out of my house.”

 

Santana chuckles softly, “If you think we’re done, you have no idea.” She’s flat on her back, turns her head to look at Quinn, “I’m not leaving until I’ve got my point across, blondie.” She’s up on her feet, head ringing. “Fuck, you have a mean left hook.”

 

Silence.

 

“Let me mess up that pretty little face, Quinn. I’ll show you how shit goes down in Lima Heights Adjacent when one of our own are hurt.” She’s running, and Quinn sighs, leaning down slightly, right shoulder square with Santana’s stomach. She grabs the Latina’s flailing arm and chucks her over her shoulder. “God fucking dammit!” Santana groans, flat on her back, once again.

 

“I’m skilled in hand to hand combat.” Quinn shrugs, “You won’t get a hit in.”

 

“Cool story,” Santana’s up again, “But I ain’t leaving until I’ve hurt you just enough.”

 

“Is that what you really want?” Quinn asks, defeated.

 

“Yup.”

 

The blonde sighs, steps back and puts her hands into her pockets, “Go on then. Punch me.”

 

“What?”

 

“Punch me. It’s what you want, I’ll let you.”

 

“You a fucking masochist or something? I’m not punching someone without putting up a fight.”

 

Quinn sighs, “Fine.” She pulls her hands from her pocket and raises her fists up, “Come hit me, if you can.”

 

Santana tries, but each punch is deflected, and after several missed punches, she pulls back, chest heaving, “You not gonna try and hit me too?”

 

The blonde shrugs again, “I already got a punch in. It’s your turn now.” Quinn’s hands are still raised, knuckles bruised, “But it seems you can’t even do that.”

 

“Fuck you,” She’s punching again, trying to land one anywhere that she can. Stomach, blocked, face, blocked, legs, blocked, back, blocked. “Fuck you!”

 

She sweeps her leg across, Quinn stumbles, hands lowering slightly, and Santana clenches her fist, pulls back and it __finally__ connects.

 

Quinn is on the floor, blood pouring from her a gash in her eyebrow.

 

Santana wipes at her nose, finding it harder to breathe with all the blood that’s dripping into her mouth. “Fuckin’ did it.” She pants, drops to a knee, “I fucking hit you, blondie.”

 

The blonde starts chuckling, ever so softly, “Yeah, you did.” A pause, “Well done.”

 

Santana smirks to herself, “Pack a hard punch, don’t I?”

 

Quinn groans as she sits up, pressing her fingertips to her eyebrow, glancing at the blood that covers them, “You could say that.” She stumbles to her feet, grabs her head, “Pretty sure you knocked my brain around.”

 

“Might have knocked some sense into you,” Santana replies as she wipes at her nose before standing, “Right?”

 

Quinn says nothing, and just sighs, “This blood won’t stop on its own.” She moves toward the door, grabs her keys, “We should go see Nozomi.”

 

Santana blanches as Quinn leaves; how the fuck is she going to explain this to her girlfriend?

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The walk over is quiet. Footmen stare at both Quinn and Santana as they pass, but thankfully, ask no questions. One glare from Quinn is enough to make them tuck their tails between their legs and keep on going with their day.

 

“Think you broke my fucking nose,” Santana hisses, touching her nose, cringing when she hears the shift of bone. “I swear to god, blondie, if you’ve ruined my perfect face I will end you.”

 

Quinn chuckles beside her, “No doubt.”

 

They keep walking, passing through the alley that leads to Shichifuku Street.

 

“How is she?”

 

Santana hides the shock of the question; she figured Quinn would completely disregard the reason they were fighting in the first place. She huffs, “She’s a mess. I walked in the room and…” She pauses, watches Quinn’s indifferent face, “You know when you look at someone and know they’re not really present in the room? She looked like that.”

 

Quinn clears her throat, wipes the blood that drips down her temple, “I see.”

 

“...What the fuck happened, Quinn?”

 

They both stop at the end of the alley, Santana watches her, Quinn stares out at the shop front before them.

 

“She said you promised her something.”

 

Quinn stiffens, “Did she say what?”

 

“She passed out after that,” Santana frowns, “Is it to do with your kid?”

 

A soft sigh, and Quinn turns, her back against the alley wall, “She saw her, yes.”

 

Santana crosses her arms over her chest, “I’m guessing from the reaction that you didn’t actually __tell__ Rach that you had a daughter?”

 

“No.”

 

“Or, that said daughter’s father was __Kaito__  of all people.”

 

“He’s a good man, he’s just an asshole.”

 

Santana would chuckle at the blunt remark, but she seems to be getting somewhere, “Why didn’t you tell her you had a daughter? Why keep it a secret?”

 

Quinn’s eyes narrow as she regards Santana, “My personal business is private, and completely none of your concern. I have my reasons for not mentioning her, and you will never be privy to why.” She pushes away from the wall, “Santana, this is my issue, and I’m trying to deal with it, but I can’t if...” She seems to choke and Santana’s eyes go wide. “I can’t __deal__ with it like other people do.”

 

“Quinn…” She steps forward, tries to put her hand on the blonde’s shoulder, but she’s moving.

 

“Lets go.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Quinn Fabray, I swear to the fucking heavens, will you stop getting yourself injured?”

 

Quinn chuckles, “Just a little misunderstanding, doc. Patch me up real quick, I have things to do today.”

 

“I’m sworn by my oath to treat all people, but you’re wearing mine thin, Fabray. I’m gonna leave you to bleed next time.”

 

“I look forward to it.” Quinn sits on the edge of the bed, the same bed from the night of the resturaunt attack, touches the space beside her, “I have someone else with me. They’ll need attention too.”

 

Nozomi stops pulling on her gloves, “Don’t tell me it’s Rachel? You went home with her last night, right?”

 

Quinn’s eyes darken, “No, not Rachel.”

 

“Then who?”

 

Santana enters the room, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, “Hey babe.”

 

Nozomi’s eyes widen as she regards her girlfriend, she looks back to Quinn, and back to Santana who looks like she’s ready for a telling off.

 

“What the __fuck?!”__

__

__

* * *

 

 

 

“Can I sit you both on the same bed without attacking one another?” Nozomi asks, voice laced with a furious anger as she stands before both Quinn and Santana. The Latina’s head is down, almost in complete shame, Quinn just stares off to the side. “Hm?”

 

“Yes we can, doc. Now, come on. I have business to attend to.”

 

Santana scoffs, “I hope that means going to see Rachel.”

 

Nozomi busies herself checking Quinn’s eyebrow, more stitches, fabulous. She moves over to Santana, tips her head up with a finger to the bottom of her chin. Santana tries to give her a cheeky grin, but the look she receives is enough to make it slip away entirely. A broken nose, probably two black eyes too. She’s lucky she doesn’t add to it.

 

“I can’t,” Quinn finally replies as the doctor is grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and her suture equipment. She sets it up on a steel wheeled cart, moves it over to the two girls, and pulls over a stool.

 

She makes quick work of wiping away the blood at Quinn’s brow, cleans her up as best she can, then gets to threading the needle.

 

“Can I ask why?” Santana asks, then sarcastically adds, “Or is it too ‘private’?”

 

Needle threaded, Nozomi gets to work on her boss’ face. Quinn barely flinches as the needle goes through, doesn’t even cry out, which worries the doctor. “Can you feel that?”

 

“Yes, why?”

 

Nozomi shakes her head, “No reason.” Weird.

 

“I know she doesn’t want to talk, she told me that much. I’ll wait until she’s ready.”

 

“Blondie, that girl is torn the fuck up, you need to talk to her.”

 

She shouldn’t be listening in on such a private conversation, but she can hardly help herself. Apparently, the late night rendezvous between Quinn and Rachel didn’t quite go to plan.

 

“When she’s ready, Santana. I won’t force it.”

 

“Oh sure, back out now, when you’ve given her the shock of her life.” Santana scoffs, “You’re ridiculous. Own up to your mistakes. You didn’t tell her about one of the most important things in your life and it blew up in your face big time. Just apologize.”

 

Nozomi sighs, snipping off the suture, “I assume she found out about Beth?” She grabs the micropore tape, snips off a piece long enough to cover the stitches and stops when both women are staring at her. Quinn looks murderous, Santana looks mortified.

 

“You __knew__  and didn’t tell me?” Her girlfriend is practically shrieking and Nozomi sighs, “What the fuck, babe?”

 

“Who do you think is Beth’s medical doctor? Of course, it’s me. I even delivered her.”

 

Santana is at a loss, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

Nozomi turns her attention away from her girlfriend and regards Quinn before placing the tape over her eyebrow. “Quinn, there’s no need to look like you want to murder me. Sooner or later, people were going to find out about Beth, you can’t hide her away forever.”

 

Quinn inhales sharply, “Shut up.” She stands, “I need to go to work.”

 

She’s out the door, and Nozomi rolls her eyes, “That woman, I swear.” She turns her attention to her girlfriend and frowns, “Get that fucking look off your face before __I__ punch you too.”

 

Santana sighs, “Fine…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It takes her a while to gather the courage to go back home. She knows Rachel is going to ask why she has medical tape over her nose, and why her eyes are rapidly turning a black and blue hue. She stops off at a bar, has a drink, grabs some things from the nearby convenience store for dinner; they’re not working tonight and she doubts highly that Rachel will want to go out for a meal, before finally admitting she has nothing else to do, and heads home.

 

Rachel, thankfully, isn’t in the living room when she gets in. She can’t really hear much of anything. “Rach?” She calls out, dumping the bag on the kitchen counter.

 

“In the bathroom,” Comes the quiet reply, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

 

Santana nods to herself and starts to unpack the bag. Pre-cooked udon noodles, a pre-made onion and pepper sauce, along with raw chicken breasts. She’s honestly not hungry, especially after everything that had happened today, but she knows she needs to eat something. The painkillers Nozomi __finally__ gave to her, after some grovelling, wouldn’t settle well on an empty stomach.

 

She’s pulling a wok out of the cupboard when Rachel finally emerges, in fluffy socks, sweatpants and an oversized Pokemon hoodie, and stops dead in her tracks when her eyes land on her.

 

“Oh my God!” She’s rushing up, cupping Santana’s face in her hands, “Are you okay? What happened? Were you mugged? Santana! Oh my __God__!”

 

She chuckles, pulls Rachel’s hands away from her face, “Rach, I’m fine. I just got into a little argument with someone and fists ended up flying. It’s all good. I gave as good as I got.”

 

Rachel bites at her bottom lip, “Who?”

 

Santana falls silent, starts to unwrap the chicken, grabs a knife, tries not to feel the dread that is rising up her spine. It was bad enough dealing with Nozomi.

 

“Santana,” Rachel’s voice is low, almost menacingly angry, “Who did you punch?”

 

She settles the knife gently on the counter and turns to face her friend, “Before I tell you, please don’t aim for my nose, or go out looking for revenge. I went looking, shit, I practically asked for it.”

 

“ _ _Santana__!”

 

She sighs, “I went to Quinn’s house and punched her in the face.”

 

Rachel swallows audibly, steps back, wrings her hands together, “Okay. I take it she punched you back?”

 

“Oh hell yeah, blondie can really pack a punch.” She almost finds it funny, but all the humour is sucked out of the room when she sees the tears pooling in Rachel’s eyes. “Shit, Rach, look, I’m sorry but the bitch pretty much deserved it. She __crushed__ you.”

 

Rachel’s voice is shaky when she finally speaks again, “You had no right, Santana.” She’s almost shaking, “How could you __hurt__ her?”

 

She scoffs, “Uh, Rach, I have a broken nose and two black eyes. She has a little cut on her eyebrow, I’m pretty sure she hurt you more than I hurt her.”

 

Rachel shakes her head, “No…you’ve made it so much worse.” She presses her hand to her chest, feels the panic again, “Oh God, Santana, what have you done?” She backs away and runs to her room, and Santana hears the click of the lock behind it.

 

She rubs at her temples, headache growing, before pulling the pack of painkillers from her back pocket, “Just trying to help, Berry…” She swallows the tablets dry and sighs.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter Ten

Rachel realizes she really misses her life in the US three months after finding out about Beth. She’s sat at work, barely registering what her patron is saying to her, plastering on a fake smile that she had perfected over the past few months.

 

Her last conversation with her fathers was almost a month ago, and once again, they had asked when she would be coming home. You’ve been there a long time now, Rach, they had said. She could hear the worry in their voices as they spoke to her, and she threw out the same lies she had used.

 

She and Santana were having _so much fun_. This was a once in a lifetime experience, they couldn’t just cut it short. They asked if she needed money, again, she declined, again, and told her to not be a stranger. They miss her, they want to come see her in New York when she gets back. It’s completely bitter sweet, and she cries for a good ten minutes when she finally hangs up.

 

The lies are beginning to spiral out of control, and she’s not sure if she can keep them in check any more. She’s been in Japan for over six months now and nothing seems to be getting closer to getting resolved. Half of her is tempted to try her luck, to drop everything and run through Phoenix territory. The other half of her knows it’s a suicide mission.

 

So here she is, sat at work, earning money that she has no interest in spending. She and Santana are still barely speaking, they hardly acknowledge each other when they’re at work, or at home. They go to their separate rooms and stay there. Rachel only emerges when she hears the front door shutting as Santana escapes for another night at Nozomi’s.

 

She doesn’t complain. She likes being on her own, now. She’s used to it. It’s familiar.

 

She no longer wanders the familiar streets, finding new spots to hang out. She just takes to staring out of the window from time to time, watching people go about their business. It takes everything she has to not just stare at the Wolf Family office, but more often than not, her eyes drift to it. Two guards outside at all times. They rotate shifts it seems, every four hours. Sometimes one of them goes away and brings back food for them both to eat while they guard. One guard likes to leer at a particular woman every time she passes on her way to work.

 

Lots of things can be figured out, just from watching.

 

Kaito drops by the office in the mornings. He stays for three hours, and then leaves for two. He comes back, stays for two, and then leaves for good. His routine is unshaken, much like his disposition.

 

Her breath always catches in her throat when she sees Quinn arrive every morning. She stays in the office all day, and luckily, if Rachel is still awake or not at work, she sees her leave at around midnight every night.

 

She hides when she catches Quinn looking up to her window, and by the time she has the strength to look out the window again, the street is barren and empty.

 

Much like her heart.

 

The third month of her self induced introversion is by far the worst. She has panic attacks almost daily, and although not as bad as previous ones, they still leave her breathless and sweaty.

 

Santana is barely home now, and although all her clothes are still in the apartment, she’s essentially moved out. She only comes home to change for work. Rachel wants to say something whenever she finally hears her friend in the apartment, but can’t bring herself to leave her room and say anything. She hears the click of the door again, and she’s alone again.

 

Like always.

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s her day off, her first in over two weeks. Ryu had to practically order her to take a day off. He originally wanted her to take three days, but when she flat out refused, he caved and only asked for one. She was fine with that, she could deal with a day.

 

Wednesday morning, she wakes up, and realizes she’s run out of toothpaste. When she wanders around the apartment, she also realizes she’s pretty much out of food too. She has to go grocery shopping.

 

Her chest tightens and she has to still herself, counting three minutes in her head, before she can actually do anything. It’s not a big deal, she can leave the apartment whenever she wants. Unfortunately, the closest grocery store takes her directly past Quinn’s office, and she just can’t do that.

 

She pulls up google maps on her phone and checks out the second closest store. It’s a little out of the way, but it’s still within Wolf territory, so she finds no issue with it. She grabs her jacket and purse, and she’s out the door.

 

She tries to keep to herself as she walks, but she still smiles whenever someone greets her. The smiles and contentment on people’s faces make her jealous, she could feel like that, but she’s dug herself into a wallowing hole that she can’t quite remember how to get out of. She’s done this to herself, and taken _everything_ too close to heart, and now she’s ruined herself.

 

Quinn hasn’t even tried to talk to her in three months. The patriarch never makes an appearance at the club, and she finds herself both thankful and annoyed all at once. Quinn is in the wrong, yet she refuses to apologize? Rachel might be a lot of things, but she isn’t weak, and she refuses to cave to the indirect pressure that Quinn is placing on her. She has no reason to apologize, so she won’t. Quinn, however, has a lot of explaining to do.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She grabs the things she needs from the store and promptly leaves before the overwhelming swell of a panic attack threatens to break through. Someone, a man, had been staring at her. He wore a Wolf Family pin on the lapel of his suit jacket, and the way he looked at her just unnerved her. He smiled at her as she rushed past him. It’s like he knew.

 

She cuddles the grocery bag close to her chest as she practically steam rolls up the street. She’s only six streets away, she’ll be home in twenty minutes. It’s fine.

 

“Momma’s friend!”

 

Rachel stops in her tracks, squeezes her eyes shut. Of all days, after three months, why now? She turns, plasters on that patented fake smile as a little baby Quinn bounces toward her. Kaito is a few steps behind her, a Hello Kitty backpack clutched tightly in his fist.

 

“Hi!” The little girl grins as she comes to a stop in front of her, “You’re momma’s friend, right?” She glances over her shoulder at Kaito, “She’s momma’s friend, right, daddy?”

 

Rachel feels like she’s going to be sick. After all the theorizing, she knew she was right. Kaito was the father of Quinn’s child.

 

He nods, eyes closed off as he regards Rachel, “She is, Fukurō.”

 

Bright brown eyes turn back to her and Rachel feels the dread in her chest, “I knew it! Daddy is just taking me to school,” She pouts and Rachel can’t help but imagine if Quinn looked the same when she pouted, “I don’t wanna go though. I wanna play.”

 

“Fukurō, we talked about this.” Kaito sounds stern, but still gentle, “You’re in trouble for speaking in English to your teacher. Momma won’t let you mess around if you won’t put in the work.”

 

“But daddy,” It’s a long whine and when she catches the look in her father’s eyes, she knows she won’t get her own way this time. “Momma will hear about this!” Her hands are on her hips, and she sticks her tongue out at her father before turning to face Rachel again, whose eyes are wide. “What is your name, momma’s friend?” She pushes out her chest, “I am Beth Charlotte Nakamura! I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance!” She glances over her shoulder, just to check if she used the term right, and at Kaito’s nod, she turns back to Rachel with a grin.

 

“I-,” She chokes out, glances at Kaito, who once again, betrays nothing, and then back down to Beth, “I’m Rachel Berry.”

 

Beth’s eyes light up, “Berry! I love berries, especially strawberries.” She’s off and Rachel clutches the bag closer to her chest, “I love strawberries! Daddy takes me to the store every day after school and I get some.” She pauses, “I like blueberries too, but not blackberries, they’re squishy and gross and they make my fingers go all purple-y.”

 

“...Oh.” She stutters, what is happening? “I like…strawberries.”

 

Kaito comes up behind his daughter, presses his hand softly to her shoulder, “We have to go, Fukurō, otherwise you’ll be late for class.”

 

Beth groans, “Fiiiiiiine, okay.” Then she’s grinning again, “Bye Rachel!” As they’re both walking away, Kaito steadfastly avoiding looking at Rachel, Beth turns and waves, “I hope you come over soon to see momma again! You can share my strawberries!”

 

When they’re finally out of sight, she runs the entire way home.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She sits on the couch, knees up to her chin, staring at the bag of groceries that she dumped unceremoniously on the coffee table. Its taken her almost thirty minutes just to calm down after her mad dash home, and she’s vowed to never go back to that grocery store again.

 

Part of her wonders, if Beth is truly aware of who her mother and father really are. Does she know they’re Yakuza? How does she still with the lies if not? Does she love her parents? How much does she like strawberries if she goes out of her way to buy them everyday?

 

Rachel shakes her head softly, shuts her eyes and sighs.

 

She can’t allow herself to be sucked into something she doesn’t understand. Her relationship with Quinn was formed by the wrong reasons, and built on hidden lies. Was it something she truly desired - surrendering to lies?

 

The front door opens and closes, she hears the thud of keys on the kitchen counter top and the patter of feet as they head toward the bedrooms. She focuses on the noises, the shuffling, the opening and closing of a wardrobe, the light sigh.

 

Santana wanders back into the living room, glances at her, and shoulders her gym bag, before heading back toward the door.

 

“Santana?”

 

She stops, looks over her shoulder at the figure on the couch, a mere shadow of the friend she cared for, “Yeah?”

 

“How’s your nose?”

 

Santana smirks lightly, “Healed.”

 

Rachel nods, “Good.”

 

A nod, and she’s gone.

 

It’s a start, she supposes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A week later, she swears the God’s have something against her. __Thou hast laid with evil, thou will be tormented forevermore!__  She supposes it’s a thing that might happen, and when she’s coming back from the laundrette with, finally, clean underwear, she ends up waiting behind a long line of school children.

 

They all wear high visibility jackets, and it’s honestly a little adorable. They seem to be on an excursion, evidenced by the two teachers right at the front, pointing to buildings as they pass them. The children pack themselves into a nearby public park, just a small one that the older people sit in on a lunch time to chat with one another, and Rachel is almost clear of them when she hears the familiar voice.

 

“Rachel Straw-berry!” She stops and swallows, turns and plasters the fake smile back on her face. Beth dashes up to her, “See what I did?”

 

Rachel nods, “Nice spin on words.”

 

Beth frowns, evidently not impressed, “It’s called a synonym.”

 

Wow, okay.

 

“So it is.” She glances at the crowd of children as they pull out their bento boxes, “You’re going to miss lunch.”

 

The small girl shrugs her shoulders, “It’s okay. They’ll wait if I tell ‘em to.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Beth grins, cups her mouth with both her hands, “You know who my momma is, right?”

 

She does, and also not. She won’t go into it with a four year old, so she just nods her head. She obviously means her occupation.

 

“She’s a big boss in the Yakuza. A pay-tri-arch. That’s right…right?”

 

Rachel nods, “It is.” So Beth did know who her parents really were. She barely seemed effected by it, but she’s not surprised. She’s grown up around two parents that are knee deep in crime.

 

“Yup, so, whatever I say, they have to do. Otherwise momma and daddy get angry.”

 

Rachel fights off the scoff, way to give your kid a seniority complex.

 

“You still haven’t been to see, momma.” Beth pauses, waits for an answer, and gets annoyed when Rachel doesn’t respond straight away. She flicks an eyebrow up and Rachel can’t help but melt when she sees it; she’s just like Quinn. There’s a heat behind her eyes she doesn’t quite understand. “Daddy says you and momma had an argument and you won’t talk to each other.”

 

Fucking Kaito.

 

“Yeah, we did. We just had a disagreement, but I’m just letting your momma cool off before we talk again.”

 

Beth seems completely baffled, “Just say sorry. I always say sorry when I do something bad. My momma always forgives me.”

 

So naive, it’s adorable. “It’s a little different between adults. We’ll get there.” She hopes.

 

“I’ll ask momma is she’s ‘cooled off’ enough when I see her at home.”

 

Oh god, no. “No, no, Beth, please don’t do that.”

 

Beth pouts, “But I want you to come over for dinner. My momma can’t cook too well, but my daddy is good at it.”

 

“Maybe one day, okay? Just…” She pauses, swallows, “You haven’t told your momma you’ve been speaking to me, have you?”

 

Her tiny head bobs to the side, “I told momma.” Fuck. “She wanted to know how you were. I said you were happy, and that made her happy too.”

 

Quinn…

 

“Thank you for telling me, Beth.”

 

The child is back to being baffled again, “You’re welcome?” Her head snaps to the teacher that calls out her name, tells her something in Japanese; to come over and eat, they’re going to miss the aquarium if they don’t set back off soon. Beth responds in perfect Japanese and grins at Rachel, “I gotta go. Talk to you soon, Rachel!”

 

Rachel doesn’t run home this time. She walks, and feels lighter somehow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Quinn manages to make it home early enough to have a late dinner with her daughter. It’s past seven at night and Beth is finishing up the last of homework, which only consists of a photo of a whale that she has to be colour in. She’s very meticulous, making sure she sticks within the lines, but she makes sure she uses every colour available in her crayon box. All sixty-four of them.

 

Kaito looks up at her from his phone, “Getting some reports of movement on the border between Theatre Avenue and Taihei Boulevard. I’m going to go check it out.” He pockets his phone and drops a kiss to the top of Beth’s head, “Dinner is warming in the oven. Fukurō wanted something ‘American’ for once.”

 

Quinn rolls her eyes, “Let me guess. Chicken nuggets?”

 

Kaito smirks, “You got it.” He passes her, “I’ll head home after, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you, Fukurō!”

 

Beth barely glances up from her colouring, tongue stuck out between two pouty lips, “Love you, daddy!”

 

Quinn rubs her hands together, “Come on, baby. You can finish up after you’ve eaten.” She makes her way over to the oven and pulls it open. Two plates sit inside, one on a Hello Kitty plate. The nuggets have been cut into small portions just for Beth.

 

She rolls her eyes at the grumble she hears behind her, and waits until Beth has pushed her homework to the side, before setting down the plate in front of her. Quinn grabs children friendly cutlery from the draw and sets them next to Beth’s plate, before sitting at the table with her.

 

“Itadakimasu!” They both call out before digging in. It’s only nuggets and fries, but Quinn hadn’t eaten since that morning, so quickly made her way through the plate. “How was the aquarium, today?”

 

Beth has a ring of tomato sauce around her mouth as she regards her mother, “It was good. I saw a shark!” She shoves another piece of nugget in her mouth, talks as she chews and Quinn grimaces, “It was so big, and it was feeding time too, it ate so much.”

 

Quinn smiles softly, “Probably about as much as you do.”

 

The little girl gasps, puts her knife and fork on the table with a clang, “Momma, that’s mean.”

 

The blonde chuckles, “Hardly mean when I’m being truthful, baby. I distinctly remember you eating over half of your birthday cake this year.”

 

Beth pouts, “It was a small cake.”

 

“It was three tiers!”

 

Beth rolls her eyes, “Momma, it was two, don’t exaggerate.” At times like this, she hates that she gave her daughter such intensive schooling; the child could charm the pants off of Yamamoto. Beth picks up her fork again, and it’s only until half her plate is empty that she looks at her mother, “Momma, I saw Rachel again today.”

 

The fork pauses at Quinn’s lips, “Oh?” She takes the nugget in her mouth and chews, before resting her fork on the table and grabbing her glass of water.

 

“Yup,” Beth leans forward, snags a napkin that sits in the middle of the table. She wipes the tomato ketchup that has somehow ended up on the tip of her nose, “At lunchtime, before we went to go see the fish.”

 

“Hmmm…” Quinn grabs her empty plate and dumps it in the sink, “And how was she today?”

 

“She was good. I asked her when she was coming over and she said…” Beth drifts off and Quinn turns to face her daughter, eyebrow raised, “Oh, she told me not to tell you.”

 

Quinn sighs, pained that there was yet another secret to hide behind. “You can tell me, she’ll never know.”

 

Beth doesn’t look too enthused at her mother’s comment, “But she told me not to.”

 

Quinn takes her seat at the kitchen table again, reaches her hand out to brush Beth’s hair away from her face; she needs a haircut, she’ll make Kaito take her before the week is out. “Baby, Rachel is my friend, and whatever she told you, I’m allowed to hear too.” She smiles softly, “If you’re worried, I won’t tell her you told me. It can be our secret too.”

 

Her life revolves around secrets, a few more wouldn’t hurt.

 

Beth stares at her for the longest time, and Quinn weirdly feels unnerved; her child knows her too well, and can see right through anything she says. She stares deep into Quinn’s eyes, tries to unlock something in there, and nods her head when she’s seemingly found it.

 

“She said she’ll come over when you’ve ‘cooled off’.”

 

Quinn falls silent, then snorts, “What?”

 

“She said she’s waiting for you to cool off before she talks to you again. I dunno what it meant, but she really didn’t want me to tell you.”

 

“But she…” She stops herself, sighs and pats Beth’s head gently, “Thank you for telling me, baby.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

An hour later, and one very bubbly bath later, Quinn is putting Beth to bed. She reads her a bedtime story, just a short children’s story that she vaguely remembers from her childhood, and kisses her daughter goodnight when she realizes that she’s beginning to drift off.

 

“Momma?” Beth asks, half asleep, as Quinn stands at the bedroom door.

 

“Yes, baby?”

 

“Do you…” A yawn, “Want me to tell Rachel anything if I see her again?”

 

She doesn’t mean for her voice to shudder as she speaks, but maybe this is the way to go about it. Maybe Beth could be the olive branch between them. The cause of their distance, but maybe the solution to it too. “I…uhm…”

 

“Momma?”

 

“Tell her…” She swallows, “Tell her that all she needs to say is yes.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bad things come in threes, it seems. This time, it’s right at her front door, and she’s getting ready to start an early shift at the club when there’s a knock at the door. She pulls open the door and she’s immediately startled.

 

Kaito is stood there, looking incredibly put out, “Beth wanted to speak with you.”

 

“Oh?” She looks down, notices the little girl that’s stood next to her father, hands behind her back, she barely reaches above his knees. The grin on her face is almost infectious, “Hello, Beth.”

 

“Hi, Rachel!” She looks up at her father, “Daddy, can you stay out here while I talk to Rachel?” She grins at Rachel and pulls her arms from behind her back, “I brought strawberries!” Low and behold, there is a large punnet of the red fruit in her hands and Rachel fights back the urge to melt at how adorable it is.

 

Kaito steps back, “I’ll be out here if you need me, Fukurō.”

 

He barely has the chance to get his sentence out before Beth is jumping through the door, “It’s girl time, daddy! Be back soon!”

 

The door is shut and Rachel has never felt so uncomfortable. She stands by the door, wringing her hands together as Beth wanders through the living area, looking at pretty much everything in the room. “This place is small.”

 

“It’s just me and my friend that live here, we don’t need a big house.”

 

“Ohhhh…” Beth jumps up on the couch and swings her feet back and forth, “But I have a big house and only me and momma live there.”

 

Ah, so Kaito doesn’t live with them. She chuckles softly, “Yeah, but your mother has a lot more money than I do, Beth.”

 

Beth’s eyes go wide, “Oh yeah, you need money…” Then she giggles softly, “Ask momma for some, she’ll buy you a gigantic house!”

 

Such naivety. “I’m happy with where I live, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Beth beams before ripping open the lid on her container of strawberries, “Come on! We need to eat them fast. I had to beg daddy to let me have them now and not after dinner.” Rachel can’t seem to find a way to say no, and sits down beside Beth, taking the strawberry that is proffered to her.

 

They eat silently, Rachel only managing one before Beth is going for her fourth. “Momma asked about you again.”

 

They were doing this already. Rachel sighs softly, wipes the strawberry juice from her lips with the tips of her fingers, “Is she okay?”

 

Beth’s eyes seemed to glitter every time she speaks about her mother, “Yep, she’s good! She told me to tell you something.”

 

Panic rises up her chest and threatens to close up her throat. She coughs gently, shifts on the couch, tries to get comfortable, “Oh, yeah?”

 

“She told me to tell you that you need to say yes.” Beth frowns and then shoves a whole strawberry in her mouth, “I dunno what that means, but there you go!” She chomps happily, grabs another piece of fruit, “Another strawberry for a job well done!”

 

Rachel feels the tears prick at the back of her eyes; she had to just say yes? What the hell did that mean? She swipes at her eyes, watches Beth demolish yet another strawberry, and tries her hardest not to cry as a tiny Quinn Fabray sits next to her, completely oblivious to what she’s just said.

 

When Beth passes her another strawberry, she smiles genuinely, her first in over three months, and she swears it’s the best tasting strawberry she’s ever had.

 

The door opens and both Rachel and Beth’s heads snap up. “Oh,” Santana glances over her shoulder at an annoyed looking Kaito and then back to the two girls on the couch, “Hey.”

 

Beth beams and jumps off the couch, “Hello!”

 

Santana’s eyes slide from Beth to Rachel and silently, it begins to dawn on her that this is __Quinn’s__ child that’s in their apartment. “Hey, I’m Santana.”

 

Beth’s eyes darken and Rachel swallows audibly, “You’re the girl that hit my momma.”

 

Santana chokes and scratches behind her head, “Look, kid, that was just-,”

 

Beth raises a hand, an instant dismissal and places the lid back on her strawberries, but not before handing another one to Rachel, “I have’ta go, but I’ll see you soon, okay?” Rachel nods gently as Beth walks up to Santana, stops before her, and stares.

 

Rachel has never seen Santana look so uncomfortable.

 

“When I’m bigger,” Beth threatens, “I’m gonna punch you and see how __you__ like it.” Then she grins, waves at Rachel and leaves.

 

Santana chokes on air, “What the fuck.” Then she chuckles, “God, you can tell she’s blondie’s kid.”

 

Rachel smiles sadly, “Yeah, you can.”

 

Santana shifts from foot to foot, “Uh,” She shrugs her shoulders, “We, uhm…we okay?”

 

There doesn’t need to be any words. She stands from the couch, walks over and wraps her arms around her friends. She hears Santana groan at the emotional gesture, but she hugs her back regardless. Rachel finally feels a sense of relief; one thing is coming together, even if everything else has fallen apart.

 

“Jesus, Berry, that’s enough.”

 

Rachel chuckles softly as she backs off, and offers the strawberry that she’s still holding. “Just don’t tell Beth that I gave it to you. I think she’d threaten to punch me, too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“So you haven’t spoken to her at all?” Santana asks, genuinely shocked, “But you’re talking to her daughter? The one that freaked you out so much?”

 

Rachel shrugs as they walk to work together for the first time in three months, “We’ve just randomly bumped into each other, when she came over, it was only the third time I’d ever spoken to her.”

 

“So…what’s happening then? Does Quinn know that Beth is seeing you?”

 

“As far as I know.” She pauses, bites her lip, “Apparently Quinn has been asking about me.”

 

Santana smirks, “I bet she has.”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

A snort, “Home girl has issues, but I don’t think I’m wrong when I say she does care for you. After we had our punch out,” She ignores the glare from Rachel, “She seemed pretty torn up. I don’t think she actually knows how to have a proper relationship, or how to actually deal with an argument without using her Yakuza powers on people.”

 

It does make sense, but she had assumed that Quinn would come after her eventually. Three months is too long, maybe a little too much, and she hadn’t even __tried__. But what Beth said sat awkwardly with her, what the hell did it mean?

 

“She might have a mean left hook, but blondie has no idea how to do things normally. Is she that freaky in bed too?”

 

It’s a joke, but Rachel stops in place. “Rach?”

 

_“I want you to know that you can leave at any time if you don’t want to do this.”_

_Rachel audibly swallow, “Would you really let me?”_

_“I wouldn’t like it, but I would.” Then she takes a deep breath, “I’ve wanted this for a while, Rachel, and I’m worried that I’ll get ahead of myself.” She pauses, “All you need to tell me is no, and I’ll stop.”_

__

She gasps and Santana’s in front of her, hands on her shoulders, “Rach? Are you okay?”

 

_“All you need to tell me is no, and I’ll stop.”_

__

She did say no, that morning on the driveway. She had stared her in the eyes and said no. Quinn had stopped, dead in tracks, and let her go.

 

_“She told me to tell you that you need to say yes.”_

__

Quinn has been waiting for _her _.__  To say yes, to say it’s okay, that she’s ready to talk, to finally take her off the brakes.

 

“Fucking hell, Berry, what is it?”

 

Rachel stares at Santana, wide eyed, “Cover me at work,”

 

And she’s off.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for childhood abuse in this chapter.

She runs so fast it hurts.

 

The swelling panic in her chest is still there, crushing her heart and lungs, but she fights. She passes through familiar streets, avoids pedestrians, takes every short cut she can remember. The Wolf Family office is so close, Quinn is so close, just a little bit longer.

 

Her lungs burn, she feels her heartbeat throbbing at her pulse point, painful and wild, but she won’t stop. Not until she’s seen her.

 

She barrels past the two guards on the door; they barely have enough time to call out her name before she’s inside, taking two steps at a time. Her legs burn, propelling her forward, and she manages to get up the stairs. She rounds the corner and makes a beeline to Quinn’s office.

 

Haruto is there.

 

He takes one look at the wild look in her eyes and steps off to the side, mouth agape as Rachel storms to the door, opens it and slams it with such force he feels the door frame actually vibrates.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Quinn’s head snaps up from her laptop, eyes wide, drinking in the sight of a panting Rachel Berry at her door. Rachel slumps back against the door, head tipped back, panting for air. The patriarch wants to say something, anything, but it’s been so long…and all the words she had promised she would say to her one time lover seems insignificant. Nothing she could say could truly make anything that happened right.

 

With a huff, Rachel begins to walk forward, and Quinn stands from the quiet sanctuary of her chair to circle the desk and stand before her.

 

She expects words.

 

She gets a swift slap to the cheek. It burns, it stings, it’s probably one of the greatest feelings she’s ever experienced.

 

Her hand reaches for her cheek, touches the warm flesh, eyes wide.

 

Rachel’s eyes shine with unshed tears.

 

Then she’s pushing Quinn, a sharp shove to her chest, and Quinn falls back against the desk. She takes the impact and forces herself to stand again. She knows what’s happening, and she’ll allow it. She stands there, face impassive, lets Rachel shove her again.

 

She stands, again.

 

Another shove, then another slap, to the exact same cheek. The tears have fallen, soaking flushed cheeks, and Rachel lets out another sob as she collapses forward, slamming her closed fists on Quinn’s chest.

 

It barely registers, she doesn’t feel the pain that radiates across her chest, and with a soft sigh, she raises her arms, wraps them around Rachel and tries to hold her still. The choked sobs that reach her ears consume her, threaten to tear apart her control, but she steadies herself, both mentally and emotionally.

 

Rachel hurts. This pain is just a small manifestation of that. It’s deserved. She’ll take it. Anything to make Rachel come back to her.

 

The sobs turn to quiet words, angry and malicious. Quinn believes every single one them.

 

“I hate you, I fucking hate you. You did this to me. I hate you, you bitch, I hate you so much.”

 

Quinn squeezes her eyes shut, and wraps her arms around Rachel tighter. It’s deserved. She needs to take it all. A night of passion hidden behind veils of lies; she’s never told Rachel anything private about herself. They don’t know each other at all.

 

“I…” Rachel sobs loudly, drops her forehead to Quinn’s chest and half heartedly tries to slam her fist down again, but it barely connects. Both hands rest, flat again Quinn’s stoic chest, and she sobs, “I love you so much…”

 

_No._

 

A tear slides down Quinn’s cheek.

 

_Don’t love me, Rachel, please. I can’t handle it._

__

__

* * *

 

 

 

Rachel is sat on the couch, steadfastly not looking at Quinn, who has retaken her seat, and back to typing on her computer like nothing has happened. Rachel listens to the gentle tap of keys, counts them in her head, until she reaches exactly one hundred and eighty.

 

Three minutes. It’s all she needs to stop the panic that swells in her chest.

 

Quinn doesn’t seem to want to talk, in fact, she’s acting like nothing has happened. Her eyes are closed off, follow the words that she’s typing on the screen, just as if nothing is wrong. There isn’t a sobbing girl in her office, trying to stop herself from having yet another panic attack. It’s another work day, just like any other.

 

Suddenly, Quinn’s fingers freeze over the keys, and Rachel slyly eyes her. Quinn is sat, completely stoic, only for a few seconds, before Quinn sighs softly and keeps typing.

 

“You’re not going to say anything…?” She’s shocked how raw her voice sounds. She picks at her nails, and scowls, “Again?”

 

The typing doesn’t stop.

 

“Quinn?”

 

Nothing.

 

Rachel scoffs, stands from the couch and stomps toward the desk, she neither cares nor worries if Quinn’s fingers will get caught, but she slams the lid of the laptop down regardless. Quinn manages to snatch her hands back, and simply lays them in her lap, staring at the closed laptop.

 

“Don’t you dare do this again.” Rachel sneers, “Not now, not after all of this.”

 

Quinn won’t look at her.

 

“I’m telling you yes, Quinn.”

 

Quinn’s eyes slowly slide up, regards the look on Rachel’s face and shudders out a breath, “Go ahead.” She leans back in her seat, “Ask me.”

 

Such an open ended answer, and all the questions that Rachel had thought of over the past few months just seem to escape her. She knew she should have written them down, but looking in Quinn’s eyes, right at this moment, just makes anything moot. Would Quinn even answer her questions truthfully, or would she just lie again, to save face?

 

“Fine. Why didn’t you tell me about Beth?”

 

Quinn’s eyebrows furrow as she hears the question, and opens her mouth to respond, before she stops herself and sighs softly. She was going to lie again. No, not any more.

 

“I try to keep her away from all of this,” Her hand wafts in the general direction of her office, “Of course, she knows what I do, but I don’t like to mix it. I’m the patriarch of the Wolf Family, but I’m also a mother. I don’t want the two to blend. Hiding the knowledge of me being a mother helps my job; there’s no threats to her to make me bend to someone’s will, and it has just followed through. I never mention her, and honestly, I never intended you to ever meet her.”

 

Rachel swallows audibly, “Why? Why couldn’t I have ever met her?”

 

“I-,” Quinn clears her throat gently, “You were going to go home eventually. There was no point in making any meaningful connections with you.”

 

Rachel scoffs, eyes wide, “Oh, so fucking me in _your_ bedroom, and letting me sleep in your bed was you not making any meaningful connections?” She leans forward, plants her hands on the desk, “I’m sorry, Quinn, but you’re doing it all wrong.”

 

“It wasn’t my intention to let you stay,” She feels herself start to fidget from the questioning, and to take her mind off of it, she pulls her cigarettes from her pocket and quickly, trying not to let Rachel see her shaking hands, lights it. “It just happened.”

 

“You’re full of crap, Quinn.” Rachel pushes off the desk and crosses her arms over her chest, “You were really just going to spend one night with me and never let anything else happen?” Her eyes widen slightly, voice quiet, “Is that why you wouldn’t take your clothes off? Is that why you wouldn’t let me touch you?”

 

Quinn pulls long and hard on her cigarette, feels the toxic smoke fills her lungs, and wishes it would just kill her. It doesn’t.

 

“I just…don’t like being touched.”

 

“You let me touch your tattoos.”

 

“And I wanted to run. You never felt me tense up?”

 

Rachel sighs softly, “I thought…” She rolls her eyes, disappointed in herself, “I thought I was turning you on.”

 

“It was both, but mostly I was uncomfortable.” Quinn pauses, takes another pull of her cigarette, “If anything, it’s not your fault, Rachel. I’ve always been that way.”

 

“When was the last time anyone touched you?”

 

Honestly, Quinn has no idea, and it worries her slightly. It was probably Kaito, all those years ago. Five years since anyone had touched her skin, and she’s never felt it since. She can’t say she misses it. It’s too much.

 

“I want to say when Beth was conceived.”

 

Rachel is baffled, works it out slowly in her head, “Quinn, that was over four years ago.”

 

“I’m aware, trust me.”

 

“That…” Rachel sounds heartbroken again, eyes wet, she looks at Quinn and shakes her head softly, “What happened to you?”

 

She can’t go into that. She can’t. Not now, not with Rachel, when everything is so raw. It’ll hurt too much. She’s spent years trying to forget, why bother dragging it all up now to suffer all over again?

 

“What happened to me doesn’t really matter, what does matter though, is that I hid something important from you. I had no intention to hurt you so badly, and for that, I do apologize.”

 

It means everything, but also so little. Quinn looks at her with such sympathy in her eyes, but Rachel can’t help but feel as if it’s patronizing. Is she just apologizing to make everything better? Or is she apologizing to make her shut up and go back to the way things were? She doesn’t want lies to sit between them.

 

“We have a lot we need to talk about.” She watches as the blonde stubs out her cigarette and calmly raises from her seat, circling the desk, almost as if she’s prowling. “Quinn…”

 

Quinn raises her hand, slides the tips of her fingers against smooth tanned flesh, feels the dried tears that sit there and sighs softly, “You truly have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

 

Rachel frowns, “I…” No, she’s deflecting. “Quinn,” She grabs the blonde’s hand, pulls it away, before she craves for more, “We need to talk. Stop trying to change the subject.”

 

The blonde shrugs gently, “Just making a comment. Continue.” She leans back against her desk, crosses her arms over her chest.

 

“I-,” Rachel swallows, “Well,” She needs to focus, fucking hell. “First, we need to talk about Beth. I assume that Kaito is her father?”

 

Quinn takes a moment, looking uncomfortable, “Mhm,” She raises her hand up, plays with the second button on her shirt, teases it through the hole. Rachel sees the flash of gold and red before she looks away. She won’t let Quinn win this little game.

 

“I also assume that Beth was conceived just after you got to Japan?”

 

Quinn unbuttons another button and Rachel forces herself not to look, but when she hears Quinn sigh and shift toward her. “Rachel,” Quinn’s voice is husky, heady and full of want, and Rachel feels the familiar thrill shoot up her spine. After so long, Quinn is before her, giving her the attention she has craved since their night together. “Do you really want to talk about this, right now?”

 

Fingertips brush the pulse point at her wrist and honestly tries to pull away, but she can smell the familiar fragrance of Quinn’s perfume and feels her resolve begin to crumble. “Please, don’t…” She wishes her voice sounded stronger as Quinn presses against her, chest to chest.

 

“Rachel,” Quinn leans in, “You want me, right?”

 

Rachel gasps at how close she is, lips almost brushing, “We need to talk, we can’t…” She’s breathless as Quinn chuckles against her lips.

 

“I thought you were fed up of, ‘we can’t’?”

 

She wants to laugh, but the thrill is there, and it’s suffocating. She smells Quinn, hears the husky voice and wants to melt into the touch at her wrist. “We need to talk.” It doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest, and Quinn knows she’s won.

 

She never had a chance, as Quinn seals her lips with a kiss, turns and sits her on the desk.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Rachel honestly tries her best to touch Quinn. The most she can do is get the suit jacket off her shoulders, but nothing much more than that. After trying to touch the open skin at her throat and chest, Quinn had grabbed her by the wrists and slid two fingers inside her to stop her from trying again.

 

She did try again, but after the second orgasm, she was in such a haze, she just let it happen, and let herself be swept away in the pleasure that consumed her.

 

It’s later, when Quinn is kissing up her neck, hands touching each and every bit of available skin that Rachel seems to come back to herself. She’s sat, completely naked, on Quinn’s desk and Quinn is still completely dressed.

 

“Quinn?”

 

“Hm?” Her lips are busy, and she has no intention of stopping any time soon.

 

“This,” She swallows, suddenly not feeling as brave, “This won’t happen again unless you offer me something in return.” She gently pushes at Quinn, makes sure she doesn’t touch exposed skin, and takes note of the look in the blonde’s eyes. “I want to give you everything, but I won’t, if this won’t be even. You know I would never try to intentionally hurt you, or Beth, for that matter. You may not see it now, but I can be trusted.”

 

Quinn’s eyes are completely blank.

 

“I-,” Rachel suddenly feels so unbelievably exposed, and leans down to grab Quinn’s jacket. She slips it on, and tries to pull it around her. “I may go back to America, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want anything while I’m here. There’s something here, I feel it, and I’m sure you do too.”

 

“What I have to offer you, is something you don’t want. I don’t do relationships.”

 

Rachel barely holds back from stomping her feet. She’s ridiculous. “You’re acting like a teenage boy! I know you feel something for me, Quinn, otherwise you wouldn’t have used your daughter to talk to me. You would have moved on to another unsuspecting girl.” She sighs softly, “But you waited…for me. That has to mean something.”

 

Quinn chews on her bottom lip, hard enough to almost draw blood. She says nothing. There’s nothing _to_ say.

 

Rachel sighs softly, leans down to pick up her discarded dress and slips it on. She feels Quinn’s eyes on her, and a tiny part of her is hopefully that the blonde will tell her to stop.

 

Nothing comes.

 

She moves toward the door, and her hand is almost on the doorknob when Quinn is behind her, gripping her wrist, “Please don’t.” When Rachel glances over her shoulder, her eyes go wide.

 

Quinn is stood behind her, head down, hair covering her eyes, visibly shaking, “Please don’t.” Rachel’s hand instinctively lets go of the doorknob, as if burnt, and turns to her lover.

 

“What do you want, Quinn?” She just sounds tired now, “You don’t want a relationship, but when I try to go, you freak out.” She slips her free hand through Quinn’s hair, pushes the hair away to look into hazel eyes, “Tell me the truth.”

 

“I don’t-,” Quinn audibly swallows, and after several moments, lets a shaky breath go free, “I don’t know what’s happening. I’ve never…really needed someone. But you-,” She laughs bitterly, quietly, “You’ve fucked me up even more.”

 

Rachel smiles sadly, “Quinn, there’s nothing messed up about needing someone. It’s called being human.”

 

Quinn’s fingers slip from her wrist, her fingertips brushing over knuckles, “I’ve always been alone. I’m comfortable that way.”

 

Rachel steps toward, and tries not to sigh when Quinn seems to visibly flinch. The blonde is on edge, one moment from running away, but Rachel needs to try and keep her here, if only to let her know that nothing bad will happen if she does.

 

“Everyone needs someone. I know you’ve been hurt, that much is evident, but I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to love you.”

 

Quinn’s jaw clenches, “Please don’t say that.” She sounds utterly ruined.

 

Rachel shakes her head softly, moves closer, cups Quinn’s cheeks in her hands, “I love you, Quinn.”

 

“You don’t even know me. How can you say that?”

 

“I may not know you, but I want to, and what I’ve seen, and how you make me feel…” She sighs, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone else before. If only seeing a piece of you can make me fall, I want to know what will happen if I see _all_ of you.”

 

Quinn is quiet for a long time, chest rising and falling as she tries to control her breathing. She can’t get out of this now. It’s catch twenty-two. She could avoid the hurt and make Rachel leave, but she could make Rachel stay, and divulge everything about herself that had hurt her in the past. She doesn’t know what to do. But when she sees Rachel staring at her with those wide brown eyes, she knows which one she has to at least try.

 

Someone once told her to not fear failure, but fear not trying.

 

Maybe it was time to make the jump with Rachel, and if she was there at the end of it all, then maybe, she could start to love herself again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They sit by side, decidedly not touching, at Quinn’s request. Rachel sits patiently as she waits for Quinn to begin, and tries her hardest not to reach out and touch or fidget in her seat. The air feels almost toxic as Quinn pulls on yet another cigarette, quiet, eyes withdrawn, staring at nothing.

 

Rachel almost gives up after twenty minutes, until she hears Quinn begin.

 

“I don’t want to call them parents, because they’re not.” Quinn clears her throat softly and takes another pull of her cigarettes, “But when I say I didn’t have a good childhood, I’m not exxagerating. I grew up around money; my father was a lawyer, a good one at that, and when he went private, the money rolled in. I grew up in a huge house in Ohio, pretty much in the middle of nowhere.”

 

“We were all devout Christians and went to church every Sunday. We were the perfect white bred American family, but behind closed doors we were something different. Both my mother and father were raging alcoholics, and barely paid any attention to me when I was there. My father would go away for cases, sometimes weeks at a time, and I’d be left with my mother.”

 

“She would go out for hours on end, and leave me with nothing. I was still young, maybe around five or six, and I couldn’t exactly cook for myself. I’d sit there, starving, waiting for my mother to come home, and usually when she did, she was even more drunk than when she’d left. When I asked where she’d been, I’d usually get a slap, so I just gave up asking. It got worse whenever my father came home, I never liked it when he came home. My mother I could handle, but my father had a worse temper. Everything I said just made things worse.”

 

“I think it was a Sunday, when I was maybe seven or eight, we had just come home from church, and as soon as the door shut, my dad kicked me square in the back and started kicking the shit out of me. My mother just watched. I have no idea what I did, or if I did or said anything wrong, but from there on, they just abused me whenever they felt like it.”

 

“When my father went away, the beatings would stop, but I’d go back to not eating. My mother would leave, sometimes for days on end, and lock the door behind her. She hid all the keys, locked all the windows, just to make sure I couldn’t leave. So I didn’t. I sat there and picked at any food I could find.”

 

“When it came to going to school, they always ordered me to hide my bruises, but when my teachers started to notice that I was losing weight rapidly, they called my mother and father in. They made up some shitty excuse, saying I was going through a phase to try and be skinny, and that I was receiving counselling for it. The teacher bought it. I went home and they hit me some more.”

 

“It continued for years, and when I got to high school, my father started acting really indifferent to me. He just…” Quinn sighs, squeezes her eyes shut, “Completely blanked me. It's like he didn't even have a daughter. He never hit me, or even looked at me. It was like I was a ghost. I'd try talk to him and he'd just act as if I wasn't in the room. I gave up after a few weeks. It anything, the silence was worse than the beatings. I longed to be hit, instead of ignored. It was confusing.”

 

“When I was eighteen, I faked an acceptance letter from Yale, which I made sure to show them when they were almost passed out drunk. They took it, and told me to get out of their house as soon as I graduated. I did, I left the same day I graduated, scraped together the funds I had saved from part time jobs and booked myself a ticket out of the country.”

 

“I couldn’t stay there; they’d follow me to a different state, I knew they would, but a different country? They wouldn’t bother with that. I ended up somewhere in London, worked my way through some other cash in hand jobs, lived on the streets to save money, until I had enough to keep going. I eventually ended up here and met Kaito.”

 

“I was a wreck, skinny as sin, weak and ill. He took me in, cared for me, made sure I ate everyday and stayed in bed until I was better. When I was, I thanked him, the only way I knew how. I slept with him, and then…well, you know, Beth happened. We had no feelings for each other, we both knew that, but we agreed to take care of Beth. I freaked out, knowing I was going to be a mother, but I knew I wouldn’t be like mine. I would protect her, get her away from anything that could potentially hurt her, made sure that Kaito could be trusted. That he wouldn’t turn out like my father. He didn’t, he’s the perfect gentleman around Beth and I.”

 

“I never intended to stay here, but eventually, Kaito introduced me to his line of work. He worked for an old family that was close to ruin; the patriarch has just been put in jail for fraud and he wouldn’t be getting out any time soon. I told him to just make a new family, that he could head, but he would need to talk to the chairman about it. Clans and families have to be passed through via the chairman.”

 

“We both went, and the chairman took one look at me, and asked if I was Yakuza. Apparently there had been a few women that had recently joined, but they were all Japanese. I told him no, he asked if I wanted to, and the rest is history. I renounced my allegiance to America, became a Japanese citizen, and a criminal on top of that.”

 

Quinn stubs out her mostly unsmoked cigarette, which had burnt down almost to her clenched fingers, “That’s that, I guess.” She shrugs her shoulders, “I was safer by myself. Whenever other people were involved I tended to just get hurt. So I learnt to deal with everything myself, it was easier that way.”

 

They’re silent again, and Quinn wants to crawl out of her skin from the charged atmosphere. She had never told anyone about the abuse, not even Kaito. It made her feel dirty, used and disgusting. If it made her feel that way, what would someone else think? She reaches for her pack of cigarettes again, anything to pass the time, but stops when Rachel’s hand rests on top of hers, on top of the packet.

 

Silence again, until she hears Rachel inhale sharply, “Smoking is bad for you, you know.”

 

Quinn squeezes her eyes shut, smiles softly, and lets the tear fall down her cheek, “I never knew that.”

 

Rachel shuffles beside her, takes both hands in hers, and she almost feels like collapsing when Rachel whispers, “Thank you for telling me.” There’s a gentle kiss to her wet cheek and her eyes snap open. Rachel’s eyes are wet with unshed tears and she feels herself go completely breathless, “You may think you’re damaged, Quinn, but you’re just as strong.” A soft kiss to her lips, so soft it’s barely there, “I love you.”

 

And Quinn finally believes her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What happens now?” Rachel asks, her cheek pressed to Quinn’s chest. They’re still on the couch, wrapped in one another, just embracing the change within one another.

 

Quinn sighs, “I try to get you back home.”

 

Rachel falls silent, brushes her fingertips against the soft cotton of Quinn’s shirt, “Yeah…”

 

“I have a meeting with Yamamoto next week. I’ll try and broach some sort of deal to let you and Santana leave.”

 

“And you?”

 

“What about me?”

 

Rachel pulls back, looks at Quinn, “What will you do?”

 

Quinn seems confused, and all she can do is frown, “I’ll get the deal and continue with what I’m already doing.”

 

“He wants you dead.”

 

“I’m aware of that, believe me.”

 

“Quinn-,”

 

“Rachel, this is my life, and it’s a life I’m proud of. I want both you and Santana safe, and if that means having to beg to him, I’ll do it.”

 

They both lean in, kisses so soft they’re barely there, “I don’t know what I’ll do if we get to go home.”

 

Quinn smiles, albeit a little sadly, “You’ll go home and continue your life. You’ll be happy, and hopefully, you’ll think back on your time in Japan with a smile. Good things happened here, bad things too, but hopefully mostly good.”

 

“I met you,” It’s a whisper, and Rachel lifts her hand, stills herself, “I met you and that means everything.”

 

Quinn sighs softly, and takes Rachel’s hand in hers. “I’m glad I met you too, Rachel.” She runs her thumb across Rachel’s palm, and then with a shaky breath, she draws it toward the exposed skin at her chest.

 

“Quinn, you don’t need-,”

 

“I do.”

 

She’s visibly shaking when she finally allows Rachel to touch her skin. This is where they hit her the most; it was easy to hide behind high collared shirts and jumpers. She expects pain, but when Rachel’s fingers finally make contact, she breathes out shakily, “Wow…”

 

“What?” Rachel’s voice is so quiet and meek, “Are you okay?”

 

All Quinn can do is smile.

 

She’s okay.

 

It doesn’t hurt any more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Quinn actually walks her home, several hours later. They had gone no further than that one touch to Quinn’s chest, but it meant everything and more. They stand together in the hall, at the door of Rachel’s apartment, the sun is already beginning to come up, signalling the dawn of a new day.

 

“I’m glad we finally talked.”

 

Quinn pushes her hands into her pants and nods, “Yeah, me too.”

 

“Thank you for telling me everything. I know you don’t really want to drag up old memories, but I really did want to know the bad and the good.”

 

“I can’t say I enjoyed it, but I do feel lighter for telling you. I’ve been carrying it around for so long, it was like a lead weight on my back.”

 

Rachel smiles softly and kisses Quinn softly, rests her hand on the sliver of exposed skin at Quinn’s chest, “Thank you for letting me unburden you.”

 

Quinn chuckles softly, “You’re welcome. This doesn’t mean, however, that when you go back to the US, you have to track them down and burn down their house as revenge.”

 

“But…” Rachel playfully pouts, “I had my matches ready.”

 

They both laugh softly, and Rachel melts into the hug that Quinn envelops her in. The stand, content together, and she sighs softly when the blonde begrudgingly pulls away, “I should go. Beth will want to have breakfast with me before school.”

 

Rachel nods, “Okay.” She presses a kiss softly to Quinn’s lips before turning to unlock her door. Santana should be home by now. “I’ll see you soon?”

 

Quinn smirks, “Count on it.”

 

She’s in a haze when she finally heads into the apartment, so much so, she doesn’t realize that Santana is sat on the couch with a shit eating grin on her face. “Worked out, eh?”

 

Rachel beams and bursts into giggles.

 

My god, it’s love.

 

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the delay with uploads. Some life things happened that needed to be sorted. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

It’s a five days later after Quinn spoke with Rachel, and she’s back at the club, again. The third time in a week. Rachel’s at work, just as normal, and speaking to a rather chatty looking elderly gentleman. She can’t help but feel the claws of jealousy sink into her whenever she sees anyone else talking to Rachel without her permission, but she knows she’s being ridiculous. They’re not in a relationship, and if Yamamoto was to be believed, Rachel would be going home in the next week.

 

She had yet to tell Rachel of the most recent developments, especially with it all being still up in the air. Yamamoto often spoke in riddles, and when he said one thing, it often meant another. True, Rachel and Santana would be able to leave, but he would want something in return. He had been vying for Quinn’s territory, and it seemed as if that was going to be the exchange for the girl’s safe passage through Phoenix territory.

 

Rachel finally notices her, almost twenty minutes after she entered, sat at the bar and gives her the knowing smile that sends a thrill straight through her, before turning her attention back to her patron. Rachel Berry could be a lot of things, but Quinn finds, being a tease is right at the top of that list.

 

The knowing glances between them had begun to get heated. They hadn’t touched one another since their little rendezvous in Quinn’s office, and the blonde was beginning to get a little desperate. Once you get a taste for something, you want it more and more. She wanted Rachel, every second of every day, and she hadn’t been able to.

 

Busy with meetings, fighting with Kaito about said meetings, making sure Beth is protected and happy at school, making sure Yamamoto doesn’t try anything under the radar. It all adds up, and finds her time being monopolized, much to her chagrin.

 

She wants tonight to be the night that she actually opens up a bit more. The internal fighting had begun to get tiresome, and she thinks she’s finally ready for Rachel to actually _touch_ her. She’ll take her clothes off, and let Rachel see the scars that aren’t covered by copious amounts of tattooing ink. She’ll allow her to touch her legs, see the scars there, touch her stomach, run her fingers along the scars that dot pale skin. She’ll allow it all.

 

She craves Rachel’s touch, so vehemently, that it’s beginning to drop her defences; the ones she had spent so many years trying to perfect. They were crumbling, and part of her was thankful that Rachel had begun to chip away at them, but it still scared her. Her useless parents were nice at first, just like Rachel, before they turned violent. Did Rachel have it in her to hurt her?

 

The pain during sex was different entirely. It’s something she demanded and craved, it made her feel normal. Making love was something she couldn’t quite comprehend, thus, she never indulged. What was the fascination with vanilla, soft and caring? It was foreign to her; if she wanted something like that, she’d open a tub of ice cream.

 

Pain was normal and familiar, it made her feel right. Naturally, she knew most relationships didn’t indulge in pain being an actual factor, but she was a special case. She chuckled into her glass of whiskey, “Special…”

 

Hardly special, but she was important. Whatever she wanted, she got. She wanted Rachel, she got her, even with all the added heartache and defence drops on the side. They were both entirely different than one another, but fit so elegantly.

 

She polishes off her drink and glances over her shoulder at the barkeep. He’s already stood behind her, pouring a fresh one into her extended glass. With a nod, he leaves, and she goes back to watching. Rachel’s patron is finally moving on, but she won’t go, not just yet. She’s in control of this, not Rachel. It’s time to make her lover sweat a little.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She somehow manages until the next patron leaves, before she stalks over to the booth and sits down.

 

Rachel is smirking at her, over the rim of her champagne glass, “Is there a problem, patriarch?”

 

Quinn’s eyes narrow and she makes a show of resting her hands on the table, before clenching them, “I’m annoyed.”

 

The brunette’s eyebrows raise, almost in mock shock and Quinn fights back the growl, “Oh? May I ask why?” She takes a sedate sip of her champagne before slowly resting the glass back on the table.

 

“You know why, Rachel.”

 

The girl has the gall to gasp, “I honestly have no idea what you mean. I’ve just been doing my job, just as you asked me to.”

 

Quinn fights back the urge to slide closer to Rachel, to grab her by the neck and feel her swallow beneath her palm, “A little too well, if you ask me.”

 

“Are you referring to Katoro? He’s lovely, he always buys enough champagne to make sure I’m well tipped.”

 

Her patience is wearing thing, and she aches to take Rachel over her knee. “You touched him a little too much, if you ask me.”

 

Rachel smiles sweetly, eyes glittering. She knows she’s playing a dangerous game and she’s __enjoying it.__ If only she knew what would come from all this back chat and feigning ignorance. “Quinn, it’s my job to touch my patrons.” Quinn stiffens instinctively in her seat when Rachel begins to slide closer to her, but allows herself to relax when she realizes it’s only her lover. She trusts her. Rachel lowers her voice when she’s close enough, chin on the palm of her hand, “It’s not as if I was jerking him off under the table.”

 

Quinn growls, “You wouldn’t.”

 

“But I could.”

 

“You’re asking for it, you know that?”

 

“I wonder how much I would be paid for an extra…?”

 

Quinn stands from the booth so abruptly the table shakes and Rachel has to dive for her champagne glass before it spills. Brown eyes follow her as she stalks over to Ryu, who stands at his podium, ushering people toward the bar area. “Ryu.” Her voice is low, dangerous, and Ryu instantly snaps to attention. She makes sure she says it loud enough for Rachel to hear, “Rachel wants an extra, give it to her.”

 

Two could play at that game.

 

Rachel snaps up from the booth and rushes over, “Quinn,” She hisses, “I was joking.” She looks at Ryu, “She was joking.” Then back to Quinn, “I’m joking!”

 

Quinn shrugs and fiddles with the wolf pin at her lapel, “You seem intrigued enough, I won’t tell you no.” She smiles and turns to Ryu, “Who is the next available patron that requested an extra?”

 

“Quinn!”

 

“It’s uhm,” Ryu fiddles with the book on his podium, slipping through the pages, trying not to shake, “Oh, uhm, it was here.” He turns to Rachel’s page, eyes drifting across the page, and he frowns, “Oh…”

 

“Oh God, what?” Rachel shoves him out of the way, practically bulldozing into him as she looks at the book. She pauses. “Oh…” She whispers softly, and looks up at Quinn who is just feigning ignorance, eyes dark, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

 

“Good. Be there in an hour. Don’t be late.” She turns on her heels and waves over her shoulder at a shell shocked Ryu and a blatantly turned on Rachel Berry.

 

Rachel wouldn’t try to beat her at her own game, again.

 

She always wins.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s exactly an hour later when Rachel arrives.

 

Quinn, who had been jumping between turned on and terrified, had almost jumped when the knock came. As if on auto-pilot, she had prepared her room, made sure she got out everything she needed, and then just sat on the edge of the bed and waited.

 

She’s barefoot as she pads down the stairs, her jacket had been discarded when she got home. Beth is at Kaito’s home for the night, nothing would disturb them. Just as she liked it. She opens the door to Rachel, who is flushed in the cheeks, hands clasped behind her back. “Hi.” She whispers, breathless, before Quinn silently opens the door wider.

 

She watches as Rachel walks in, and quietly shuts the door behind her, “Beth?”

 

Quinn smiles, “At Kaito’s house for the night.”

 

All Rachel can do is nod, her mouth suddenly very dry. Quinn closes in on her, flush to her back, and drops a kiss to her neck. Rachel eagerly accepts it, craning her neck to give the blonde more access. It’s not until she’s pulled back, that Rachel speaks again, “Are we going to do what we did last time?”

 

Quinn notes, that her lover sounds almost __hopeful,__ and tries to calm herself.

 

“A little more than last time, if you’re interested?”

 

Rachel turns, “Can I touch you?”

 

Quinn swallows the panic and calms herself, “I was hoping you would.” She can do this, it’s only Rachel. Rachel, who is the polar opposite to her parents, who would never dream of hurting her. She won’t add scars she doesn’t want, she’ll add the scars she decides are needed.

 

They take their time making it up the stairs, stopping every few to drop a few more kisses to waiting lips. Rachel giggles softly, Quinn just smirks and slaps her gently on the ass, “Up.”

 

They both manage to get into the bedroom, and Quinn stills when she hears Rachel’s light gasp. “Just like I said before, all you need to say is no and I’ll stop.” She steps forward, toward the bed, and looks down at what she meticulously picked for their night together.

 

A leather cane, brown and sturdy and easy to manage. Rope, instead of the belt that still had the imprints of Rachel’s nails dug into the leather, and a blindfold. “It’s only simple stuff, but I don’t want to freak you out straight away.”

 

Rachel’s hands are up, teasing the plait that runs over her shoulder, “You wouldn’t freak me out, but…” She sighs and drops her hands, “Could I ask a question?”

 

Quinn nods, “Of course, anything.” If it means sating Rachel’s worries, she’ll answer anything.

 

“You want to… _ _hurt__  me…right?”

 

She smiles softly and shakes her head, “No, Rachel, I don’t want to hurt you.” She picks up the cane, grips it tight and holds it out for Rachel to touch, “Feel it.” When Rachel doesn’t, she tries again, “It won’t bite.”

 

Rachel finally does, brushing the tips of her fingers against the small leather paddle at the end. “It’s…soft?”

 

Quinn nods, “It’ll only hurt you, if I want to hurt you, which I do not. I wouldn’t go out of my way to hurt you, Rachel. I’m not into that.” She’s not her parents.

 

“How…would hitting me with this, feel good?”

 

Quinn’s eyes drift down to the exposed thigh of Rachel’s leg, and notes, this new red dress she owns is too sinfully short for work and should really be worn in only her presence. “Can I show you?” She pulls the cane back.

 

It takes a moment, but Rachel nods her head gently, “Where do you want me?”

 

“Just there is fine.” She moves forward, pulls up the dress even more, leaves a larger section of tanned skin on show, “I’m going to strike here, okay?” She drifts her fingertips across skin and smirks when Rachel shudders, “If it hurts, I’ll put it away and we won’t touch it again. If you like it, well, we’ll see how things go.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Ready?” She pulls the cane back, hovering a few inches away from Rachel’s outer thigh.

 

A shuddering breath, “Ready.”

 

The crack of skin on leather fills the room and Quinn squeezes her eyes shut to fight off the thrill that shoots through her. It has been so long since she’s heard that noise; a noise of her own creation. She opens her eyes after a few moments, regards Rachel, whose cheeks are flushed.

 

“Did that hurt?”

 

Rachel’s mouth opens and shuts, before her hand drifts down to the slowly growing redness at her thigh. The flesh is warm, and tingles, “No…it didn’t. It was good.”

 

Quinn beams, “See, you have nothing to worry about.” She raises her free hand, cups Rachel’s chin, her thumb brushing along a full lower lip, “I only want to pleasure you. I can pleasure you through pain and make it intoxicating. You’ll want more and more until you can’t take it any more. It’ll make you plead and beg and feel emotions you never knew existed. Fear is something that doesn’t exist in this room, not with me. I’ll protect you.”

 

“Quinn…” Rachel closes her lips over the roving thumb at her lips, kissing softly, before she pulls back. “Okay. I trust you.”

 

“That’s all I ask.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s when Quinn is tying both her hands together with a thick cotton rope that Rachel decides to speak again. “Do you want me to hurt you?” It almost makes her pause, but she continues, meticulously knotting and tightening, but not enough to cause distress to her lover’s wrists.

 

“I enjoy pain.” Quinn states, almost flatly, and sits back on her feet to admire her handy work. Rachel sits above her, naked, perched on the edge of the bed, regarding her with such an odd look in her eye, “Our versions of pain are drastically different. I’m not asking you to punch me in the stomach or smash me over the head with something.”

 

“I get that.” It seems she really does, “But what pain would you enjoy? I didn’t touch you last time, so I’d like to know.”

 

“Generally the pain that comes with rough sex. Biting, hard. Nails in my skin, dragging down my back, hard enough to draw blood. If you scarred me, I wouldn’t be bothered, in fact, I promote it.”

 

“That seems a little too much like-,”

 

“I was never sexually abused. This is different to being beaten. We both control what happens in this room, and we can stop with a simple no. My parents never knew when to stop, or if they did, they chose not to. We’re both consenting adults in a sexual relationship that involves both pain and pleasure. A simple no will stop it all.” She pauses, and stands from the floor, looking down at Rachel, “I have scars you’ve never seen, from pain I didn’t ask for, or enjoy. I have scars from pain I did ask for, and did enjoy.” She begins to unbutton her shirt, and with each pop of a button, she feels the panic swell in her chest and close up her throat.

 

She’s okay, she can do this.

 

“Can you tell the difference?” She shrugs off the shirt, takes the time to fold it carefully, almost meticulously, and places it on the bedside table. She takes one measured step back and stares steadfastly above Rachel’s head. She can’t look at her, not yet.

 

She almost feels Rachel’s eyes on her, zeroing in on each and every scar that marks her body. The one just below her bellybutton, from a particularly sharp shard of glass from her father’s drinking glass. One on her right side, just above the rib, when both her mother and father kicked the shit out of her and broke a rib. One dead centre of her chest, down between the swell of her breasts, when her mother had thrown her down the stairs for asking if she could take the car to the mall. Several others told a story; a story of a heartbroken childhood, ones that pained her to remember.

 

“Turn around,” The thickness in Rachel’s voice is palpable, and she does as her lover says. She hears the gasp at the scars that line her back, and drops her chin to her chest. Mixed with scars of her parents making, are ones of faceless women she had fucked on her travels across the world, and most of them from the women of Tokyo and Kabukicho. These ones, she was proud of. These showed how she could crack the calm façade of women and allow them to show her what they truly felt. Each scar told a story; a story of a freeing adulthood, ones she loved to remember. “Okay…”

 

Quinn turns around again, and steels herself. Thankfully, Rachel doesn’t seem as if she’s going to burst into tears. She wouldn’t be able to handle that. She’s made Rachel cry enough as it is.

 

“So…?” She opens, after a prolonged moment of silence.

 

“I can tell the difference.”

 

Quinn blows out a breath, “You can, huh?”

 

“Yeah. The bad scars are deeper, almost more angry. They still look painful.” Rachel sighs softly, “Do they? Still hurt?”

 

“No. They don’t.” Thankfully.

 

“The others,” Rachel continues after a slow nod, “They look like they’re imprinted on your skin, just like your tattoo. They tell a story, just like the wolf on your back. They don’t look red or angry, they’re just there; a part of you.”

 

Quinn swallows; my God, she gets it. Rachel actually understands. She drops to her knees in front of the brunette, lifts her bound arms and slides closer, so they’re around her neck. She drops her forehead to Rachel’s and smiles, “You understand.”

 

“Quinn,” The blonde pulls back slightly, “I don’t know if I’m capable of hurting you, or if I can get that carried away to lose all control, but I want to give you what you want. I want to be a part of your story too, and give you good scars to cover the bad.”

 

The blonde chews on her lower lip, fighting back the words that threatened to escape. This isn’t the time.

 

“Let me have my way with you,” She ducks under Rachel’s arms and stands once more, “Let me make you feel __more__  and then I promise, you can touch me too. Let me have this first.”

 

Without prompting, Rachel shifts full onto the bed, head against pillows, hands above her head, gripping onto the metal poles of the headboard above her.

 

With a smirk, Quinn crawls onto the bed, hovering above her, “Good girl.” And kisses her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

All they’ve done is kiss, but Rachel is already a mess. She’s pleading for Quinn to touch her, which she has steadfastly not done. She has kept her hands away, fisted tightly in the bed covers as she kissed Rachel to within an inch of her life. It’s when she’s sucking gently on Rachel’s nipple and feels Rachel touch the top of her back that she freezes.

 

Not because she’s been touched, but simply because Rachel has moved her hands.

 

She pulls back, looks at the traitorous arms and frowns, “I didn’t tell you to move your hands.”

 

Rachel whines softly, “Quinn, I just want to touch you. Please.” But the blonde is off the bed, grabbing the cane and fisting it securely. “Quinn…”

 

“On your hands and knees.” Her voice is husky and heady, and she knows she’s lost to her own desires, “Unless you can’t follow directions any more?”

 

Rachel whimpers, “I can…” And proves it by rolling over as gracefully as she can with her bound arms, and pushing her hips up, ass on display for Quinn to see. Quinn knows Rachel is panicking, and drops her free hand to the bottom of Rachel’s back to soothe her. It takes a few moment, but the brunette’s breathing goes back to normal, “Thank you.”

 

Quinn nods, almost to herself and circles the bed, dragging the very tip of the leather paddle along Rachel’s cheeks, watching each and every twice of Rachel’s muscles. The brunette’s face is down onto the bed, forehead to mattress, mouth agape.

 

She waits, gently tapping the cane on one cheek, watching Rachel’s expression slowly switch from worry to impatient. “Will you just-,”

 

A sharp crack against flesh and the rest of Rachel’s comment is lost through a long hiss. Quinn watches carefully; the redness of an ass cheek, the way Rachel’s face smooths out, and then slaps the cane down again. This time, ever so slightly harder.

 

This time, Rachel doesn’t hiss, but groan, and she’s ready for the next hit by the time Quinn is raising the cane again.

 

One more time, and Rachel moans softly, clenching her ass cheeks together to soothe the hot burn that spreads across them.

 

“What do you say?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m sorry, what?”

 

Rachel moans softly when the cane lands with a thud on the floor and Quinn is back on the bed, kissing the abused flesh, licking and sucking, pearly white teeth sinking down.

 

It’s breathless as she says it, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

 

The blonde moans against red flesh, “Good girl.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Rachel is tight around her fingers, panting and heaving for breath as Quinn fucks her to within an inch of her life. Her thighs are covered in love marks, along with her stomach and breasts, her own little marks that she wants to put on Rachel’s body. Ones that will gradually fade away, and she can add again. Nothing permanent. Not now.

 

The brunette grinds her hips down on two fingers, takes everything Quinn can offer, soaks her palm, and begs to have her clit sucked, which Quinn happily obliges. She lets Rachel grind her pussy against her face, but makes sure those arms stay where they’re suppose to. Her pain will come later, and she’s already wet from the thought of it.

 

Rachel pushes her head back, sinks her teeth into the coil of rope and screams as Quinn’s tongue fucks her into oblivion. The orgasm is strong, almost chaotic, and Quinn holds steadfast, tongue slowly lapping, bringing Rachel back down.

 

“F-fuck,” She finally whispers as Quinn pulls back with a smirk, “God, your tongue.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Quinn chuckles, sitting on her knees between Rachel’s legs. She sucks the come from her fingers, and loves that Rachel watches her while she does it. “Fuck, you taste good.”

 

Rachel actually blushes, and Quinn can’t help but find it adorable. Thoroughly fucked, naked as the day she was born, legs spread, and she’s still shy. “Can I touch you, now?”

 

Moment of truth.

 

Quinn nods and pulls Rachel up, bringing down her aching arms, and kissing the hands softly before untying the knot that had kept Rachel bound. The rope is discarded with, dropped to the floor with a dull thud beside the cane and she’s suddenly at a loss. What does she do now? Strip off and lay down or…?

 

Okay.

 

Rachel is up, cupping Quinn’s cheeks, “If you want me to stop, just say no, okay?” Quinn melts, effectively, at her own words, and nods her head. The hands are gone, and she swallows the automatic panic that tries to make itself known. Rachel’s hands drift down the plane of her stomach, over the scars she despised, and land on the waistband of her pants.

 

The tension is broken when Rachel giggles softly, “You’re not packing, are you?”

 

Quinn snorts, “No, not today. It’s in the bedside.” She leans in and kisses Rachel soundly, “For future reference.”

 

Rachel clears her throat as she works on the button of Quinn’s pants, “I’ll keep that in mind.” The button is freed, and she works on the zip, making sure to keep an eye on Quinn’s breathing as she does so. She’s calm, or she’s just really good at hiding her panic.

 

She takes her time pushing them down, going at a pace that Quinn would prefer. She would rather rip the god forsaken things off of Quinn’s body, but she manages to pull back and control the feral need to touch her lover.

 

She giggles again, “Who would have thought under all the masculine clothes, you’d wear the girliest panties ever?” She stops giggling, however, when she sees hot wet Quinn is. It’s visible, through the thin slip of black french lace, and she swallows audibly.

 

“Problem, Berry?”

 

“N-no!” She shakes her head, “No…my lord, not at all.” She gets annoyed when the pants are at Quinn’s knees, “Uhm, would you mind doing the rest?” Quinn chuckles as she gets off the bed, pulls off her pants, and then stills when she’s only left in her underwear.

 

“What do you want now?”

 

The first thing she realizes, is how pale Quinn’s skin is, even after living in such a hot climate. She had tanned easily through her time here, but from the milk white of Quinn’s skin, she truly realizes how little Quinn liked to bare her body.

 

“Underwear. Take it off. Bra too.”

 

Quinn does as she says, and bites her lower lip as she looks away, letting Rachel look at her. It’s raw and unabashed; the first time someone had seen her naked body, and she feels as if the control she had perfected as a Yakuza was slipping away. Naked, without the suit, or the pin, she was just a girl. That same girl from Ohio.

 

She panics.

 

Rachel is off the bed, pressing her body against Quinn’s, hushing her softly, “It’s okay. It’s just me.” And it is. She feels how soft Rachel is against her, listens to her soft and soothing tones, the fleeting smell of her perfume. Her parents aren’t in front of her, it’s Rachel, it has always been Rachel. “You’re okay.”

 

It takes her a few moments, but she nods and looks down at the brunette, “I’m okay.” She presses a soft kiss to Rachel’s forehead before allowing Rachel to move her toward the bed. She seems confused at first, about which position to put Quinn in, but when the blonde rolls her eyes and lays on the bed, hands clasped over her stomach, Rachel gets the point.

 

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by looming over you.” Rachel comments as she climbs onto the bed, laying beside Quinn.

 

“Then don’t loom.”

 

Rachel rolls her eyes playfully, “Of course.” She leans in, presses a soft kiss to Quinn’s lips, and she swear she hears Quinn almost purr against her. “Who knew the wolf of Kabukicho could purr?”

 

Quinn smirks and pulls Rachel on top of her, swallowing the panic by distracting herself. She kisses the open plane of flesh between neck and shoulder, bites down softly, “Don’t tease me, Rachel, otherwise I’ll get rough again.”

 

“What if I want you to?” The tension is chaotic, and is only broken when Rachel’s hand slips between her legs and teases Quinn’s pussy, “What if I want you to lose that control you so desperately crave?”

 

The fleeting touch alone is enough to make her head crash against the bed and she swallows the groan back. She won’t let Rachel win. She always wins at these games. She flips Rachel over, hovers over her.

 

“Now who’s looming?” Rachel quips, moving her hand back into position, moving two fingers against her throbbing clit. She feels Quinn shudder above her, barely able to hold herself up, “Feel good…?” She’s almost breathless as she asks the blonde, and is only answered with two slender fingers touching her too.

 

She groans softly, surges up to kiss Quinn, speeding up the pace of her fingers, and swallows the moan from Quinn. Finally, they’re together, both body and soul, touching one another, feeling one another. It’s incredible and Rachel doesn’t want the moment to end.

 

Rachel slips her hand down, watches Quinn’s expression carefully, and slowly slides the two fingers inside her. Quinn chokes out a moan, and her fingers still for a few moments before they continue, faster and harder than before.

 

Their kisses bruise as they fuck one another, arms burning through sheer effort, moans filling the room. Quinn is wet and tight around her fingers, and the feeling alone threatens to make her come already. The blonde’s fingers slip down her slit and three push inside her, filling her to capacity.

 

“Oh fuck, yes, daddy…” She whispers against Quinn’s lips, and moans audibly when she feels the tell tale clench of Quinn’s pussy around her fingers. “Come for me.” She pushes harder, deeper, and hooks her fingers to hit that special spot inside her lover. “Come for me, daddy. Come all over my fingers.”

 

Quinn does. And it shatters her.

 

She calls out Rachel’s name through an almost scream, pushes her hips down onto those talented fingers and comes hard. The cataclysm of emotions that wash over her threaten to tear her limb from limb. The pleasure is electric, the delicious burn and pain of her stretched out pussy melts deliciously with the pleasure and the orgasm is probably one of the strongest she’s ever had.

 

It’s insane. She wants it all over again.

 

Her fingers still inside of Rachel as she enjoys the spike of her orgasm and the come down. All she hears is white noise, until she finally feels Rachel’s hips rocking into her fingers. She’s moaning softly, eyes wide, pupils blown. She’s even more worked up now.

 

Quinn smirks, “Want to come, baby?” She feels a little wobbly, but controls it.

 

Rachel whines, pulling her fingers free from Quinn softly, before wrapping her wet hand around Quinn’s wrist, “Please.”

 

“Gonna have to beg me better than that, Rachel.”

 

“Please daddy, I’m so wet. Make me come.” She tries to move Quinn’s hand, but finds that the blonde is just as strong as she looks, and almost sobs at the stoic hand, “Oh god, please, fuck me. I want to scream your name. I want to shatter around your fingers.”

 

The first thrust is strong, rough and brutal, and Rachel gasps, her hands wrapping around Quinn’s body, nails digging into her lower back. Quinn drops her head into the crook of Rachel’s neck and moans softly, “Let yourself go, baby.”

 

She does, as Quinn effectively fucks her into the mattress. She allows herself to moan and scream, begging Quinn for more, digging her nails deeper into pale flesh. The swell of her orgasm is close, threatening to push her over, but she doesn’t want the moment to end.

 

They’re both so exposed, the lines between pleasure and pain blurring into something she can’t quite understand. Is this what Quinn meant? She feels herself shattering, and she knows now, that Quinn will be there to put her back together.

 

She comes hard, and screams Quinn’s name as her nails tear at Quinn’s back. She feels sticky heat under her fingers and hears Quinn whisper in her ear, “I’m coming…”

 

And they do, together, enraptured by one another.

 

Pain and pleasure.

 

Completely and utterly sated.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first thing Quinn told her, was to never apologize for something she had asked for. The scratches were deep, and angry looking, and Rachel immediately felt bad. But with a quick kiss from Quinn and a cheeky smile, she knew it was okay.

 

They cleaned up, and after hesitating at the edge of the bed, Quinn pulled back the covers and practically ordered Rachel into the bed.

 

Quinn liked to be big spoon. Rachel made no argument, and allowed herself to be wrapped up in the blonde’s arms. She was safe here, contented.

 

She’s awoken rudely, which feels like only moments later, but is easily hours, by the ringing of a cellphone. It’s Quinn’s, evidenced by the low groan that the blonde exudes as she rolls over to grab her phone.

 

“This better be important.”

 

Silence, a soft hum from Quinn.

 

“Fine.”

 

The phone clatters onto the bedside table again, followed by a soft sigh.

 

“Is everything okay?” Rachel asks sleepily as she rolls over, draping herself across Quinn’s back.

 

“Yamamoto finally agreed to a meeting. Tomorrow, twelve pm.”

 

“That’s good, right?”

 

“...I can only hope.”

 

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I recently started a new job and all the training just left me exhausted. I should be back on this now. Only one more chapter left after this.

Much to her chagrin, Kaito is adamant that she must wear a bulletproof vest to the meeting. It’s heavy and unsettling to wear; she’s nowhere near as nimble and fast as she usually would be. It’s just a precaution, she knows this, but as she straddles the boarder between Phoenix and Wolf territories, at the pre-set meeting place on said boarder, she feels as if the vest will hamper her more than it will help.

 

Kaito is quiet and stoic beside her, along with Haruto and Akiro who watch for any suspicious activity. They’re only stood outside an office building, only a street over from the main strip, waiting for Yamamoto to finally agree to let them enter.

 

The waiting alone sets Quinn on edge, and she tugs at the collar of her shirt to hide the flash of black from her vest that keeps peeking through.

 

“Stop fidgeting,” Kaito admonishes, low and quiet so Haruto and Akiro can’t hear him, “If you let waiting faze you, Yamamoto has already won.”

 

Quinn scowls and drops her hand from her collar; she hates to admit, but he’s right. Yamamoto loved to let the other family head’s sweat whenever they had a meeting with him; he was notorious for it. If anything, it didn’t necessarily make anyone worried, it just pissed them off. No one liked to be left waiting.

 

“If he doesn’t hurry up I’ll go in there myself and slit his throat.”

 

Kaito rolls his eyes, “Good luck getting back out.”

 

Quinn smirks, “Who needs luck when you’re sneaky?”

 

He almost laughs at that, “Sneaky? You always get into fights, and when you do, you end up leaving a trail of blood right to our office door. You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried.”

 

“I could walk around with my top off. I’m sure having my tits out would attract more attention.”

 

Then he does laugh, “Please don’t do that.” He rubs at his forehead with two fingers, “God, please don’t do that.”

 

Both their heads snaps toward the office door as it swings open; two of Yamamoto’s men appear from the other side, eyes narrow and closed off as they both regard Quinn and her men. They tell her, in thick Japanese, that Yamamoto is ready for her. It seems that Yamamoto has set the mood; no English today. Business is only to be done in Japanese, much is the custom.

 

Quinn can’t help but bristle as she follows the two men inside. She feels as if things will change after this meeting. There’s something, in the pit of her stomach, telling her that this is a bad idea. But with Kaito’s hand on her lower back, directing her inside, she knows she can’t back out now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The meeting room is around the same size of her office, but unlike her sedate office décor, Yamamoto’s glistens with expensive golden knick-knacks. It’s gaudy and Quinn can’t help but roll her eyes at the older man as he sits at his desk, arms crossed over his large chest. He likes to appear strong and stoic, but if anything, he’s just fat and useless.

 

His salt and pepper hair looks almost greasy today; obviously he had tried his hardest to calm his usually messy curls into some semblance of normality for the meeting with what looked like a full pot of hair wax. He looks quietly confident, but Quinn doesn’t allow herself to falter. She knows his tricks by now, especially ones that involve guns, so she’s prepared.

 

Yamamoto tracks her as she takes the seat opposite him, only the thick wood work of the desk barricading them from one another. She allows herself to settle into the seat, and as she does, waves Kaito off to the back of the room; he has a better vantage point than she does, and it would be better if he could keep eyes on the three men that belong to the Phoenix family that stand beside him. Akiro and Haruto are stoic beside the door, hands clasped firmly behind their backs.

 

The silence is almost deafening as the shuffling of feet comes to a standstill, and Quinn chews on her inner cheek to ward off the annoyance that floods over her. Yamamoto has a habit of doing this; making people wait for him to speak first, it’s a tactic he always likes to use.

 

After a solid five minutes, Quinn clenches her hands in her lap, “Are we going to start or not?” She speaks in fluent Japanese, if only to appease the other family head, and feels her nails dip into her palm when Yamamoto lifts one hand, palm to her, a silent admonishment.

 

“It’s rude to hold a meeting when not all parties have arrived.”

 

Quinn frowns, “All parties?”

 

Yamamoto smirks and leans back in his seat, the squeak of expensive leather fills the room. The waiting is agonizing, but after twenty minutes, the door is swung open. The tell tale voice of an angry Latina makes Quinn’s head swing toward the noise.

 

Three of Yamamoto’s men are shoving both a blazingly angry Santana and a worried looking Rachel into the office, a hand on each of their shoulders to make sure they didn’t try to bolt.

 

Quinn sneered and turned back to her rival, “What are they doing here?” It almost comes out in English but she manages to slip comfortably back into Japanese. His expression alone ignites a painful worry that embeds itself in her lower stomach. It makes her feel sick; this wasn’t suppose to be a part of the plan.

 

If both Santana and Rachel are here, she has no upper hand, no ace up her sleeve. She’s on the ropes before the meeting has even begun.

 

Yamamoto takes his time as he pulls a lone cigarette from a packet on his desk, lights it and takes one measured draw. He bows his head toward the discarded packet, smoke fleeting away from his parted lips; a silent gesture for Quinn to take one.

 

She refuses, and pulls her own packet free from her jacket pocket. The brand he smokes tastes like toxic waste; she prefers her cigarettes filtered anyway.

 

They smoke in companionable silence, and Quinn tries not to crawl out of her skin when she almost feels Rachel’s gaze on her. It’s like drilling holes into the back of her head, and she’s so acutely aware that Rachel is so close. It’s dangerous; and as she smokes, she tries to figure out how to get out of this alive.

 

“So,” Yamamoto begins, stubbing out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. It’s piled high with old cigarette butts. “You wanted a meeting.” He extends his hands out to her, to the people in the room, “You’ve got one.”

 

His tone is condescending, and it makes Quinn want to punch the fucker in the face.

 

“I’m here to negotiate the safe passage of both Santana Lopez and Rachel Berry from the city. They’ve been caught up in a Yakuza war; they won’t cause us any hassle.”

 

Yamamoto seems to stew on this, his fingertips gently drifting across his clean cut chin, “They saw things they shouldn’t have seen.”

 

“I’m aware, and I’ve told them that it’s none of their concern. What happened that night in the alley is between both our families, between me and you, and all they want is to go home.”

 

“And how do I know they won’t just squeal to the police when they leave?” He adjusts himself in his seat, eyes sliding up to the girls that stand by the door, “How do I know you haven’t coached them into what to do, and what to say?” He scoffs and turns his attention back to Quinn, “I am being _incredibly_ generous by hearing you out, even knowing that you went to the clan head to complain about me.”

 

Quinn balks.

 

“Oh yes, I do know about that. Your little trip to Tokyo didn’t go unnoticed. You can leave in the middle of the night and take a shitty little truck out of the city in disguise, but I have eyes and ears everywhere. I knew where you going the moment you made those plans, and I have it on good authority what was said in the meeting with the Chairman.”

 

She tries her hardest not to let it faze her; she doesn’t want to show him how shaken she is. She thought she had been so careful; she and Kaito had made the plans several months in advance and she only left when she knew it was safe.

 

But he knew. He knew all along.

 

“And…” She clears her throat gently, “How do you know what was said in the meeting?”

 

Yamamoto’s smirk turns cruel, “That would be telling. I won’t divulge my sources.” He waves his hand, “Anyway, that’s old news. I’m more interested in what you actually spoke with him about.”

 

Quinn, intelligently, decides to stay quiet.

 

“Apparently I’m putting a bad name to the Yakuza and killing your people?”

 

She clenches her jaw, “You are.”

 

His eyes roll and she wishes she could stand and punch him.

 

“Please, it was one lower level soldier, and I’ll have you know, the men that did that were promptly dealt with.”

 

Her eyebrow flicks up, “Dealt with?”

 

He leans forward, clasps his hands together on the desk and chuckles softly, “I gave them a taste of their own medicine. They’re in the river somewhere.”

 

So, he isn’t above killing his own. Quinn shifts gently in her seat, trying to figure out some sort of reply. She’s completely baffled; why go out of his way to have his __own__ men killed for killing one of hers? He watches her intently as she struggles for a reply and chuckles; it’s low and deep, and it makes her skin crawl.

 

“You-,” She stops herself, frowns, “You killed them to cover your own tracks.”

 

He seems shocked by her reply and leans back in his seat, silently urging her to continue.

 

“You didn’t want the chairman to think you were just allowing your men to murder people. You thought that if you punished your men for doing it, you’d fly under the radar.” She scoffs, shocked at her own train of thought, “That’s why the Chairman said nothing about it; it was your soldier’s doing. Not you. You’d done nothing wrong in his eyes.”

 

“The Yama-inu finally gets it.”

 

Quinn growls softly; he always enjoyed using that particular slur. Rabid dog. She was a proud wolf; the tattoo on her back was proof enough for that.

 

“This is between us, Yamamoto. Not those girls.” She glances over her shoulder, takes in a fuming Santana and a worried looking Rachel. They both look so small compared to the men in the room, and completely out of their comfort zone. They had lived here for so long, but yet, they still knew so little. She turns back to him, “Let them go and we can settle what rivalry we have together.”

 

He seems to ponder on this, head moving from side to side slowly, almost like some comic book villain. Quinn feels her worry spike, when she notices his eyes dart to each and every one of his men that stand in the room, and she raises her hand to her ear, tugs gently on the earlobe. A sign to Kaito that something was about to happen.

 

Yamamoto’s eyes finally turn dark, “I want your part of the city.”

 

Quinn’s eyes narrow, “Out of the question.”

 

“Then no deal.”

 

“You never liked me, did you?” Quinn asks, voice level and shockingly stable, “Is it because I’m a woman? Because I’m American? Or that I managed to get my own family before you?” She sits forward in her seat, lowers her voice, low and dangerous, “Because you couldn’t run a piss up in a brewery and your profits are slim to fuck all because all you do is spend the money on yourself?”

 

She finds pleasure in how red his face seems to go. Her voice is dark and foreboding. She’s on a roll.

 

“I’m better at what I do, Yamamoto. You think being the head of the family is the be all and end all? I’ll move up, make waves to the higher ups, and when I have enough power, I’ll make sure Phoenix never rises from the ashes again.”

 

“I’ve had enough of you, dog.” She glances his hand slyly move to his desk drawer and stiffens in alert. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long and now it’s time I put the rabid dog down.”

 

The flurry of movement is immediate, and Quinn quickly jumps up from her chair, picks it up and launches it at Yamamoto as he tries desperately to reach for the gun in his desk drawer. The impact is brutal, and she’s sure she sees blood running from his nose as she turns and dashes toward the two girls.

 

Kaito and Haruto have already knocked out the three men that escorted Rachel and Santana in; they lay motionless on the shag carpet at her feet. Haruto is already off to help Akiro, dashing clean across the room to help him deal with two men. They’re carrying knives, and looks skilled in their use of them as they jab toward Akiro and Haruto.

 

Quinn is about to turn and help when Kaito lands a steady hand on her shoulder, “You need to go.” He nods to the girls, “I’ll deal with the mess here. Get them out safely.”

 

“Kaito,” Quinn whispers, glancing toward Yamamoto as he struggles to his feet, wiping blood from his face, “Please, be careful.”

 

All he can do is nod before Quinn is ordering both girls out of the room, telling them to run as fast as they can, and not to stop, no matter what happens. She takes care of random stragglers in the building, a few of Yamamoto’s men that didn’t seem to know how to fight at all. He truly was picking up stragglers off the street with the promise of money and power.

 

The make it out of the building, but only after one of Yamamoto’s men got a cheap shot at her bad shoulder with a baseball bat. She clutches at it desperately as she follows the girls, making sure to keep an eye out for any Phoenix men as they run through the streets. They’re still some distance away from the safety of Wolf territory, but with a clean run, they should be in there in ten minutes.

 

They cut through alleys that Quinn had memorized, and with the help of both Santana and Rachel, she manages to climb over a fence with her bum arm.

 

Three Wolf men are stood outside her office when she arrives, and run to her aid when the pain in her shoulder becomes a little too much to bear. Rachel stops just before reaching the sanctuary of the office and turns to run back to Quinn, before she is stopped by Santana.

 

“She told us not to stop, no matter what.” The Latina is panting for air, sweat dripping down her forehead. Summer in Japan is glorious most of the time, but not when you’re running for your life. “She’ll be okay. Her guys are here.”

 

It pains her, but she follows her friends lead and heads up the stairs to Quinn’s office. It’s a huge difference compared to Yamamoto’s garish office; it’s understated and beautiful, just like Quinn herself.

 

They’re joined by Quinn only minutes later, and she quietly thanks her men before dismissing them. With a sigh, the patriarch looks to both the girls, “Are you both okay?”

 

Santana scoffs, “Are you?”

 

“Shoulder hurts, but I’m good.” She walks over to her desk, “We’re on high alert. Yamamoto is still alive and he’s coming for blood. You two will be on lock down. I’d move you but right now, I think this is the safest place we have.” She grabs her laptop, throws it to the floor and slams the hilt of her heel into the computer over and over again.

 

“Whoa, what the fuck?”

 

Quinn keeps stamping, and only stops once to kneel down, pull open the cracked casing and rip out the hard drive. “They’re coming for blood. All the information on my family is on this,” She waves the hard drive at Santana, “They won’t be able to get it now.” She does the exact same thing with the board, until it’s in several disintegrated pieces on the carpet. “I can’t let them know everything.”

 

Santana frowns, “You’re talking like you’ve already given up.”

 

Quinn straightens her back and smirks, “On the contrary, I’ve only begun.” She moves of to her chair, sits down in it with a heavy thump and begins to mess with one of the drawers, “I never thought I’d have to use this again, but,” A wide, seemingly secret drawer is opened and Quinn pulls out a katana, still in its sheathe, “If they want to play with knives, I will too.”

 

Rachel steps forward, “Quinn, please, if you use that, you’ll just be like him.” She notes the darkness in Quinn’s eyes and it honestly terrifies her, “Don’t stoop to his level. You’ve gotten this far by being better than him.”

 

“Rachel’s right, blondie, you don’t want to be a murderer.”

 

“It’s a scare tactic.” Quinn mutters as she stands, pulling the katana free from its sheathe, resting the discarded piece on the desk gently. “Yamamoto is going to come for me, and I’m going to be prepared. Kaito and the rest won’t be able to hold him off forever. They’ll pull back and I’ll have to take charge. I’ll fight dirty, just to see him surrender.”

 

“Quinn…”

 

The blonde shakes her head and circles the desk, dropping a gentle kiss to Rachel’s forehead, “I’ll be okay. I always am,” She looks to Santana, “Keep her safe, alright? And yourself too.”

 

All Santana can do is nod.

 

Quinn is almost out the door when it’s swung open; a bloodied Haruto and Akiro are stumbling through, gasping for air. “Boss!”

 

The patriarch steps back, allows the two men access and slams the door shut behind them. “What happened? Are you okay?”

 

Haruto groans loudly on the floor, trying not to bleed on the expensive carpet, when Akiro finally speaks up, “Yamamoto, he’s on the war path.”

 

Quinn glances between the two, and doesn’t complain when both Santana and Rachel rush up to help them. They have cuts to their faces and body, obviously Yamamoto was thinking the same thing with knives.

 

“What did he do?”

 

“He’s killing whatever he can. We managed to get out, Kaito helped us, but…” Akiro is pained as he speaks, and hisses when Santana rips open his shirt to check out the gash on his chest. It’s red, angry and still weeping blood.

 

“But?”

 

Quinn feels her heart thump dangerously in her chest.

 

“Kaito, he was in a bad way. He’s going one to one with him, unarmed.”

 

She’s out the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The adrenaline courses through her as she leaves her office. Her men are scrambled, covering each entrance to the street. Civilians are moved on, or when they refuse, forcibly removed. The street is achingly quiet; her men speak amongst themselves, and only bow to her as she passes.

 

Kaito is in trouble.

 

The katana is a comfortable weight in her hand; she hadn’t used one since she first started training in martial arts. She never truly enjoyed fighting with weapons; much preferring hand to hand combat, but something about the solid steel, engraved with a pouncing wolf at the helm, made her feel protective and powerful.

 

Yamamoto was going too far, and if the Chairman wasn’t going to do anything about it. She’d do it herself. She dashes through the streets, avoiding passers-by, whilst keeping an eye out for the tell tale Phoenix pins as she heads toward the office that held the ill fated meeting.

 

He never wanted to talk; it was just a ruse. I’ll kill the girls if you don’t give me your territory. It’s a poor man’s game, and one she refuses to play. She won’t be played. Not any more. Not by him.

 

She skids to a halt when she arrives on the street. It’s completely deserted. Her fist clenches around the Katana as she slowly traverse the street; everything about it screams ‘trap’, but she can’t stop now. There are drops of blood on the ground, most probably Haruto’s and Akiro’s as they made their escape.

 

The office is in sight, and just as she is making her way toward it, the glass door slams open and Kaito falls from the other side, collapsing in a heap on the floor. He struggles for any sort of purchase on the ground, trying desperately to push himself back up. He’s covered in blood, his clothes almost in complete tatters.

 

“Kaito!”

 

He moves his head weakly toward Quinn’s voice and she almost sees the whites of his eyes, “N-No!” Yamamoto is behind him, katana in hand, a disgusting piece of steel that had most probably been made just for him. The hilt is wrapped in gold, but hardly noticeable from all the blood that covers the blade.

 

“I knew it,” Yamamoto smirks, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to leave him.”

 

“Let him go!” Quinn shouts, “He hasn’t done anything, this is between me and you!”

 

Yamamoto’s head tilts to the side, almost as if he’s pondering, “Is it?” He glances down at Kaito, who still continues to struggle on the ground. His strength has escaped him, and Quinn aches to go to his side.

 

“What are you getting at?”

 

“How’s the daughter, Yama-inu?”

 

Quinn feels herself go weak.

 

“She’s at school, right?” He checks his watch, almost as if he cares, “Almost home time. Who will pick her up?”

 

“Don’t you fucking dare touch her.”

 

“Kaito usually picks her up, right?” He nudges said man with the tip of his shoe and his smile is almost a sneer at he regards her, “Who will do that, now I wonder?”

 

“What do you-,”

 

The katana is raised and shoved through Kaito’s back before she can even finish her sentence.

 

She screams, and it honestly doesn’t sound like her at all. She sounds just like that young girl that first arrived in Japan all those years ago; scared and alone. She’s suddenly that girl again, and almost collapses to her knees when Yamamoto pulls the katana free from Kaito’s back.

 

The father of her child goes limp on the ground, eyes still on her, but she knows there’s nothing there. That fire, that spark behind his eyes has gone. He’s just a shell.

 

“So sorry, my hand slipped.”

 

Her entire body quakes, and for once, she doesn’t know if it’s from fear or anger. It could be both, but every muscle in her body aches and she can no longer focus on one thought. Kaito is gone. Yamamoto knows about Beth. Rachel and Santana are safe, but for how long? Kaito is dead. Yamamoto needs to pay.

 

“You’ll pay for this.”

 

He extends his arms out, “Come for me, then.”

 

Quinn tries to step forward, but she ends up stepping backward. Beth isn’t safe. She can’t do this, not right now.

 

“You’ll pay.”

 

She turns and runs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The headmaster at Beth’s school is incredibly well mannered when she arrives at the school and all but demands that Beth be allowed to leave. He doesn’t mention the weapon she holds in her hand, and personally goes to grab the young girl before Quinn can put the steel to his throat for insolence.

 

Beth arrives only moments later, and Quinn fights back tears as she drops to her knees, drops the katana and wraps her arms around her daughter. The young girls is stiff in her arms, but pats her mother gently on the back when the blonde begins to cry softly into her hair.

 

“Momma?”

 

She takes a moment to compose herself and pulls back, hands on her daughter’s shoulders, “Come on baby, we need to go. Do you want to go to my office?”

 

Beth is confused as her mother picks up the katana and gently nods to the headmaster before leaving. She remains silent the remainder of the journey to her mother’s office but take note at the way her mother looks around anxiously and that her hands seem to tremble.

 

She almost enthused to see Rachel at the office, and says almost nothing about the two bleeding men on the couch.

 

“Quinn?” Rachel asks, finally managing to get away from Beth, who has now gone to checking out Haruto’s head wound with morbid fascination. “What happened?”

 

“He knows about Beth,” Quinn chokes out, her hand tightening painfully around the katana, “He knows and,” She takes a shuddering breath, “Kaito, he…”

 

“Quinn…” Rachel steps forward, places a soft hand on Quinn’s cheek, “Is Kaito…?”

 

The patriarch sighs shakily and pulls away, “I can’t, not right now, I need to…” She can’t seem to land on one train of thought; her mind is completely frazzled, “I need to go take care of him, he can’t get away with this.”

 

“Quinn, please.”

 

“Rachel,” Her hazel eyes burn with unbridled passion, “Take care of Beth. Please. Go to the train station. Get her and yourselves away from here.” She pauses, leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Rachel’s lips, “Please.”

 

Rachel sighs softly against Quinn’s lips, “You never needed to ask.”

 

Quinn takes note of how Rachel wishes her luck and to be safe before she leaves, but steadfastly tries not to focus on the quiet ‘I love you’ that Rachel utters as she walks out the door.

 

She’ll tell her…when all of this is through.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It seems Yamamoto is impatient to begin. He’s stood at the end of the street, firmly in her territory, the same street her office is on. She wishes she could do this elsewhere, but the anger that sits in the pit of her stomach is too much to deny any longer.

 

The Phoenix patriarch looks almost smug as he walks down the road, katana resting on his shoulder. He seems ready for a show down, but he’s being a little too smug about it. She knows she’ll be underestimated; with her second in command gone, and half of her men out of commission, he’ll believe she’s helpless. Her running away will have proved that.

 

But he’s wrong. So very, fucking wrong.

 

They stand a good distance away from one another. They regard each other quietly. She knows he’s trying to size her up; trying to see what sort of threat she would be. With how frazzled she is, only made stronger by Kaito’s sudden death, she should be easy pickings for him.

 

“I’ve waited a long time to do this. I’ve wanted you dead for a long time.”

 

Quinn steadfastly remains silent, and stands her ground. She plants her feet and raises her katana, pointing the very tip toward him. A silent gesture to fight, which he scoffs at, before dropping his own steel from his shoulder and raising it toward her.

 

It’s now or never.

 

Quinn is the first to move, fast and agile, even in heels, she darts forward, katana raised for Yamamoto’s chest. He suddenly on the defence, katana horizontal across his chest to stave off the attack. The blades connect and Quinn clenches her teeth, trying to push back against the strength of her much stronger rival.

 

“I’ll put you down like the dog you are.”

 

With a mighty shove, she’s pushed back and almost stumbles, but catches herself as Yamamoto lunges forward. His steel is strong and true, dead for her neck; he swings with such power, almost as if he’s wanting to take her head clear off. She manages to dart off to the side, and only feels the whoosh of the blade pass her hair as she does.

 

It was close, but she’s back on her feet, stable, katana raised, and it clashes against his once more. The glee in his eyes is almost obnoxious, but he’s playing right into her hand. She needs to keep this charade up; she needs to keep acting like she has no idea how to handle a katana. It’s the only way she’ll ever win against him.

 

She needs to play his own game against him; playing your cards close to your chest and showing your hand right at the last second. She won’t allow a man like him to beat her down, not any more, not after Russell.

 

“Pathetic.” The one word slur rips through her, and she feels the anger begin to rise. She pulls back, circles around him and kicks him square in the back. It barely does anything, he barely even shifts from his position, and he’s already turning to grab her by the throat.

 

He squeezes hard, “You’re worthless,” He sneers, face close to hers, “A useless little girl that doesn’t know what to do now that I’ve killed your precious Kaito.”

 

She wheezes, free hand grabbing his, “Don’t say…his name…”

 

“I’ll kill your entire family. I’ll make you stand there and watch while I kill your daughter too.” He laughs softly, “I can’t wait to hear you beg.”

 

Quinn groans softly, feeling herself go a little light headed, “Funny…”

 

Yamamoto frowns, “Hm?” When she doesn’t respond, he shakes her a little, “Out with it.”

 

“You think…you’ll kill me?” She chokes out a little laugh, “I already told you…I’d make…Phoenix crumble.” She opens her eyes and smirks, “I can’t wait to see you go up in flames.”

 

Her foot connects with his groin, and in reflex, the grip on his hand slackens ever so slightly. She manages to pull away in that moment, kicks him back again, and raises the hilt of her katana to land squarely on his already broken nose.

 

“Fuck!” He screams, swinging his katana wildly at her. It never connects, and she’s already out of range, “Fucking cunt!”

 

He’s pissed as he charges at her, and this time, she’s ready for him. She parries all of his attacks, ducking and weaving between each jab and sweep; she’s more agile than he’ll ever be. He’ll wind himself eventually, and she’ll strike. She’ll end his pathetic self loving life style with class and grace; with a katana to his neck.

 

His first mistake is when he backs himself up against a nearby building, using it as leverage to keep himself upright after a surprising sweep attack from Quinn against his thigh. It’s bleeding profusely, but if anything, the pain doesn’t even seem to register.

 

“What are you going to do?” He spits out, blood dripping down his chin. His katana is still in his hand, extended out toward her to keep her away, “I thought you were against murder?”

 

“I am,” Quinn raises her katana, “When it’s against innocent people, like Kaito, like my men, like the innocent civilians you’ve silenced when they haven’t given you what you wanted. But you’re far from innocent, Yamamoto.”

 

He chuckles softly, “I’ll go down fighting.” He pushes himself from the wall and raises his katana with a shaking hand, “I won’t lose to you.”

 

Steel clashes against one another, the loud ring of steel colliding fills the empty street, she feels a nick to her arm, a lucky shot, but doesn’t let the sharp pain back her down. She keeps fighting, her final assault, for Kaito, for Rachel, for Santana, for Beth, and only stops when a katana slides into soft flesh.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“She’ll be okay, you know.” Santana says quietly, as to not let the little girl that waits for the train overhear them. They’re stood together on the train platform, Haruto and Akiro stood at the entrance of the station. They had steadfastly refused to let them leave alone, even if they were injured.

 

“I wish I could believe that,” Rachel sighs softly, running her hand over her face, “I always worry about her. I wish she would just get out of this life. It’ll kill her one day, just like…” She stops herself and looks over at the oblivious little girl on the bench just behind her. Beth is kicking her feet back and forth, unbelievably excited at the thought of getting on a train. Her Hello Kitty backpack is sat safely beside her and Rachel balks. “Kaito…”

 

“We can’t let her know.”

 

Rachel nods and turns to her friend, “I think she already knows, but...I’ll leave it up to Quinn, when she gets back.”

 

Santana smiles softly, “That’s the spirit.”

 

There’s a shout, seemingly from Haruto, and both girls glance over to the entrance. A bloodied and bruised Quinn Fabray is walking toward them, sans katana. Her golden hair is coated in blood, eyes hollow as she regards her two men. They each place a hand on her shoulder and she smiles softly at them both, even if it is just a façade.

 

“Boss…?” Akiro asks softly, his eyes wide.

 

Quinn just nods.

 

The two men step back and glance to one another before looking back to Quinn. They drop to their knees and bow to her. She feels the hot sting of tears assault her but fights them back, dropping to her own knees to place a hand on each of their heads.

 

“You did the best you could, both of you.”

 

Haruto sniffles, “I’m so sorry…I tried, but Kaito, he made me leave.”

 

Quinn hums softly, “He was always a stubborn ass, but he made sure you were both safe.” She urges them both to look up, “He would be proud of both of you, for what you did, and for how strongly you did it.”

 

“But Kaito,” Haruto tries to butt in, but Quinn shushes him.

 

“Kaito did what he always promised he would do. He protected…” She stops and inhales sharply to fight back the tears, “He protected us and…” She hates herself for crying, she hates that her two most trusted men are seeing her like this. She hates that they both sit up and wrap their arms around her. She doesn’t want to be weak, not now. They hold her as she cries, and only when they pull away, does she pat them both gently on the cheeks and smile. “He’s proud, I know it.”

 

They both can only nod.

 

She glances up when she notices that Rachel is watching her with pained eyes and she stands, “I need you to go the doc’s. I need you to tell her about the casualties, and about Kaito.”

 

They both bow once more and quickly do their patriarch’s bidding.

 

She smiles up at Rachel, but from the look that her lover gives her, she knows it isn’t a very convincing one. “Hey…” Her voice is quiet, raspy and tired as she ascends the stairs to the train platform. It’s seemingly empty except for them.

 

“Did you…?” Rachel asks quietly, biting down on her lower lip softly.

 

Quinn nods softly.

 

“Okay…” Rachel sighs, “We’re just waiting for the train. You don’t happen to have any cash on you for tickets?”

 

Quinn nods and pulls out a brown paper back from the inside of her destroyed jacket. It’s thick and heavy as she puts it in Rachel’s hand, “More than enough money for all three of you to go back to the States. Beth’s passport is in there too. Brand new. You shouldn’t have any trouble.”

 

“What?” Rachel asks, voice wispy, “Three?”

 

“I have things to sort out here, but I need you to leave, and take Beth with you. It’s not safe here any more, even with Yamamoto gone. There will be a meeting of the clan heads, I’ll need to account for my actions. I’ll need to sort my family out.”

 

“You’re not coming with us?” Rachel asks, dumbly.

 

Quinn shakes her head softly, “No. I will come to you though, just give me time.” She cups Rachel’s cheek gently, “All I ask, is that you take Beth with you, and take care of her, because right now, I can’t.”

 

“You don’t need to ask for me to do that, but why not just come with us? You can get out of this life.”

 

The patriarch smiles softly, “Because, Rachel, this is my life, and I don’t want to leave it. Even with all the struggle and the heartbreak of today, this life made me who I truly am. I’m proud, and I won’t just abandon it. All I want now, is for you, Beth and Santana to be safe. You can go back to your families and I promise, I’ll follow.”

 

“When?”

 

Quinn shrugs, “Not long, hopefully. Maybe a few months, just until things are stable again.” She sees the train on the horizon, slowly pulling into the station. “I’ll come to the States, I’ll come back to you and Beth. I’ll be there for you both.”

 

Rachel almost feels herself melt, “This isn’t goodbye?”

 

“Far from it,” She leans in and softly presses a kiss to Rachel’s lips, and then she’s pulling away when she feels a tell tale tug at her pants. It’s Beth, staring up at her with Kaito’s wide eyes and she feels that heartbreak all over again, “Hey, baby…”

 

“Momma…”

 

Quinn drops to her knee and regards her daughter, “Yes?”

 

“Has daddy gone to the moon…?”

 

Her resolve crumbles and she wraps her arms tightly around her daughter; when Kaito lost his mother to cancer, he had told Beth a story of how her grandmother had gone to the moon to watch over them. It was a beautiful and poignant story, and one that Quinn is upset to know she’ll never hear again, unless she’s telling it herself.

 

“Yeah, baby…” She whispers softly, feeling the tears slide down the cheek, “Daddy went to the moon…”

 

“Did it hurt when he went?” The child was too smart for her own good; she knew her father was gone, that he had died.

 

Quinn pushes her face into Beth’s hair and sighs softly, “No, baby. He just went to sleep, like granny did.”

 

“The train is here.” Santana comments quietly, already grabbing Beth’s backpack, “We should go.”

 

The goodbye is quiet, and almost understated. Santana claps a hand on her good shoulder and says, "See ya later, blondie. Let Nozomi know that I'll want her to come visit, alright?" She shifts from foot to foot, "Tell her...you know." 

 

Quinn nods with a smile; what a soft asshole.

 

Beth is in Rachel’s arms, “We’re going to America, momma!”

 

Quinn can’t help but match her daughter’s infectious smile, “You are, you’ll have fun! Take lots of pictures okay, I’ll want to see them when I get there.”

 

Beth promises resolutely, and Quinn presses a soft kiss to her forehead, “Be good for Rachel, okay? She’s gonna take care of you until I get there.”

 

“It’s okay, momma. Daddy is looking at me from the moon, I’ll be super safe!”

 

Quinn fights back the wave of sadness and smiles, “Of course, silly me.” She turns her attention to her lover and fights back a gasp at how beautiful she looks right at this moment. Hair tousled, eyes wide and alert, if a little sad, her lips turned up in a sad smile, “Be safe…okay?”

 

“I will,” Rachel leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Quinn’s lips, “I love you.”

 

Better than never, she supposes, as she presses her forehead to Rachel’s, “I love you too, Rachel.”

 

The automated voice warns them that they only have a minute left before the train was set to depart, and Quinn found herself hating how timely Japanese transport was.

 

“Be safe, okay?” She confirms again, and tries not to focus on how Rachel’s eyes are filled with tears. “I love you…a hell of a lot.”

 

Rachel laughs softly, “You have great timing.”

 

“Get on the train, Rach.” She presses another kiss to Rachel’s lips before dotting another to her daughter’s forehead, “Be safe, and look up to the moon, okay, Beth?”

 

“I will, momma.”

 

As the train pulls away, she can’t watch them leave. The last thought she wants is of them stood together, as a family, on this stupid dingy train platform, speaking only words of love. She gave them the hope they needed, to leave. She would join them soon.

 

If only she hadn’t of lied.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
